


Hearts / Wires

by edema_ruh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Angel Combeferre, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Art exposition, Artist Grantaire, BAMF Enjolras, BAMF Grantaire, Blood, Blood and Injury, Breaking Up & Making Up, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are BFFS, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluffly first dates, Fluffy conversations, Grantaire Angst, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Enjolras, Hurt Grantaire, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealous Courfeyrac, Jealous Enjolras, Lack of Communication, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Poor Grantaire, Resentment, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy!AU, Teasing, That will actually be resolved later, Training to become a secret agent, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: Enjolras is an agent of the ABC, which is an activist secret agency that has assuring people's safety as its top priority.Grantaire is a broke artist living in Paris who happens to look very much like the informant Enjolras is supposed to meet for a case. A misunderstanding takes place, and they fall in love.But of course, an unspoken rule in the universe is that nothing is ever simple when it comes to Enjolras and Grantaire. And the universe isn't about to break that rule just yet.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on a homonymous song by Deftones.  
> Make sure to check the tags before reading this story.

 

                The evening had just fallen upon Paris when Enjolras stepped into the street across the bar.

He pulled his coat closer to his body, attempting to maintain warmth as a slow, cold drizzle fell from the cloud-covered skies. His cheeks and nose were flushed from the low temperature and his blond curly hair was starting to stick to his forehead from the dampness of the light rain. Still, he waited for the two black cars that were running down the street to pass by him before he crossed it towards the bar on the other side. The bar’s entrance was dimly lit and glowed in the darkening night with a yellowish tone that immediately gave Enjolras a sense of coziness and warmth. He could hear the faint and faraway tinkling of glass and muffled conversations tinged by laughter, indicating that the bar was full of costumers, even though it was a Wednesday night and it wasn’t even that late yet. Work hours were probably just ending, and still, the bar was already fuming with life and energy.

He stopped by the entrance, briefly stomping his damp boots on the wooden floor before he could enter. He glanced upwards one last time as if to check if he was in the right place – and the sign that read “Corinthe” glanced back at him almost defiantly. The letters had been green once, but were fading from time and the constant sunlight that must hit it through the course of the day. Enjolras had been standing at the door of the Corinthe for three seconds tops. He had around five more seconds to linger outside and mentally rehearse his schedule before people found it weird that he wouldn’t come in.

The description of the man he was about to meet was simple enough for him to remember: tall, curly dark hair, grey eyes, stubble with a heavy drinking habit that went by the alias “R” (a sign that he was too untrusting to reveal his true name). There was a chance that there would be more than just one match to that description in the Corinthe that night, but Enjolras’ training had prepared him for these types of situations. He would be able to spot his informant on the moment he laid eyes on him. He had never failed before, and he wasn’t about to.

The ABC was doing very well on catching leads and tips about the Patron-Minette’s schedule, and Enjolras wasn’t about to blow that up. Deciding he should enter the Corinthe at once, he retrieved his hands from inside his coat pockets and pushed the door open. A tiny bell on the top of it tinkled, as expected, but the sound went mostly unheard as it was immediately drowned out by all the people talking and drinking inside. The temperature difference was immediately evident – whereas the street had been cold and damp, the bar was just as warm and cozy as Enjolras had deduced. The lighting helped to increase that sensation, and suddenly Enjolras’ stomach rumbled. He remembered that it had been hours since he last ate; too busy catching up on three different paperwork and planning out how to approach his informant on the Corinthe. He headed straight to the barstools – not only it was more probable that his informant would already be there ( _heavy drinking_ ), but in case he wasn’t, it would be easier for Enjolras to assess his surroundings without raising any suspicion. The bartender greeted him with a nod, and Enjolras ordered a beer that he wouldn’t drink.

After discreetly evaluating the attendees of the Corinthe, Enjolras came to the conclusion that, unlike he had first believed, there was only one man that matched the description of his informant there. He was sitting by the bar, as predicted; a tall man with curly black hair (that was too ruffled for Enjolras’ taste) sat hunched over the bar, nursing a beer that was probably not his first on that night, if the glassy look in his eyes could tell anything. He sat on the opposite end of the bar from Enjolras, and yet managed to catch sight of Enjolras staring at him. Not meaning to drawn unnecessary attention – there was a considerable chance that they were being watched by someone from the Minette –, Enjolras turned his head away and took a sip of the beer he had ordered, doing his best not to grimace in the process. He would never be able to understand why people enjoyed drinking that bitter cereal water.

As if taking his hint, the man grabbed hold of his own beer and slowly made his way to the stool directly beside Enjolras, which was one of the only few vacant in the bar. He stood in front of it for a while, and Enjolras didn’t bother to turn his head towards him, staring straight ahead instead. After a few seconds of tense silence, the man asked:

“Mind if I sit?”

His voice was different from what Enjolras had imagined it in those few seconds of visual contact – he had expected it to sound too rough, too thick. Instead, it was firm, but had a melodic tone to it. Enjolras wondered if this man could sing, and then immediately shook the thought away from his mind. What did it matter if he could or couldn’t sing? Chances were he would never be seeing that man again in his life.

However, another thing that called Enjolras’ attention about this man was that his voice sounded slurred and dragged out. A sudden realization dawned upon him and he spoke up without ever turning towards the man, voice strict:

“You’re drunk”.

“Ah, very observant”, the man replied with a smirk, and without Enjolras’ confirmation, sat at the stool beside him. He immediately turned on his side so that he could look straight at Enjolras, whereas Enjolras remained perfectly still on his seat, sipping at his beer and forcing himself not to taste it. “I’m Grantaire, by the way. But you can call me R”.

Enjolras frowned. If this man was so willing to give up his name on the second he first spoke to Enjolras, then why dealing with the ABC with such secrecy? He had been very clear that his personal details were to be protected when he made the deal with Lamarque. Maybe this “informant” was either too drunk or too reckless, but Enjolras tried not to pay much attention.

“It’s a pun”, Enjolras realized, a tinge of surprise and curiosity in his voice. This made a stunning grin appear on Grantaire’s lips, and Enjolras immediately wondered why he would ever define someone’s grin as stunning. “A _clever_ pun”, he added, just for the sake of honesty.

“Not that I can deny it, but thanks”, Grantaire raised his own glass slightly before taking a sip. Enjolras mimicked him, smothering his strong urge to dispose of the beverage on the nearest sink he could find. Grantaire seemed to realize that, because he commented: “You know; the specialty of the house is wine, not beer”.

“You’re drinking beer”, Enjolras noted, continuing to stare straight ahead.

“That’s because I wouldn’t waste money on good wine for someone such as myself. You, on the other hand”, Grantaire raised a curious eyebrow, “you seem to be deserving of good wine. Chetta!”, he called out for the bartender, who approached them with an interested look in her eyes and a dirty rag on her hand.

“Hey there, Grand R”, she greeted with a smile, leaning on the wooden counter that separated the pair from her.  “Finished with your beer?”

“Ah, this thing is nasty”, he said, and then contradictorily downed the rest of his drink in one go before dragging the empty cup towards her through the counter. “Get my friend here and I your finest wine”, he instructed her with an amiable tone.

“You and I both know that you can’t afford our finest wine”, she raised a teasing eyebrow at him. Enjolras pretended not to notice the way she eyed him curiously, almost as if trying to read him, before retrieving Enjolras’ own glass of beer as well. It was still half-full, and Enjolras hadn’t requested her to take it, but he remained silently thankful that she did. “I’ll see what I can get you”, she said, before taking her leave.

“So”, Grantaire turned again so that he could face Enjolras. “What brings a pretty face like yours to a place like this tonight?”

Enjolras stiffened, but immediately obliged his muscles to relax. He needed to stay in character, to stay calm, especially now that this Grantaire guy was finally getting to the point Enjolras wanted. This was the whole reason why he had gone to the Corinthe that night – to get information about the Patron-Minette. But he couldn’t exactly just jump into that subject. There was always a chance that they were being overheard, and Enjolras didn’t want to endanger their operation. He would have to recur to the coding that Lamarque had informed him about.

“Can’t a man enjoy a drink by himself after a day of work?”, Enjolras shrugged, trying to play it cool and doing his best to maintain a neutral expression. Grantaire scoffed, disbelief evident in his face.

“You were drinking that beer as if it was horse piss. Which it probably was, but that’s not the point here”, Grantaire mimicked Enjolras’ shrug, leaning back casually against the counter and putting his weight on his elbow. If Enjolras was a more observant man when it came to the matters of physical attraction, he would have noticed that Grantaire was purposefully displaying his biceps, even if he was being subtle about it. “You didn’t come here to drink”.

“Very observant”, Enjolras replied, repeating what Grantaire had told him moments ago. He mentally made a note to try and control his facial expressions better. If a drunk man like Grantaire had been able to see through Enjolras, than he was getting slack at his job. He would have to ask for Lamarque’s assistance on that point.

“So I’m assuming you came here to meet someone”, Grantaire continued, eyeing Enjolras carefully after the man gave no indication that he would continue himself.

“Well done”, Enjolras said in a flat tone. What sort of game was this guy playing?

Then it dawned upon him. Maybe all this Grantaire had heard about Enjolras was a vague description, just like the information that Enjolras had about him. Maybe he wasn’t sure that Enjolras was the agent he was supposed to meet on the Corinthe that night. This meant that the time for games was over – Enjolras would have to make his intentions clear. Before Grantaire could come up with a clever response, Enjolras blurted:

“Let’s just say I’m looking for either Lopez or Sosa”, he shrugs as casually as he can, “and you look like someone who could help me out”.

Grantaire shuts his mouth at this, which is such a different endeavor from his previous ceaseless banter that Enjolras finally turns his head to face him for the first time since he sat down by his side. From this close distance, Enjolras can see that Grantaire’s eyes look more sober than they had seemed from afar. They were also uneasily mesmerizing, sending an alien sensation down and across Enjolras’ spine. He suppressed a shiver, and as much as he wanted to, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Grantaire’s greyish ones, almost as if he had been caught up in some sort of a trap. Grantaire, on the other hand, looked almost surprised.

“Oh”, he said, blinking rapidly as if he had just realized something himself. “Oh, right”, he gave Enjolras a look that withheld a mixture of disbelief, disappointment and shock. “I’m… I’m afraid I can’t help you with that?”, he shrugged hesitantly, tapping his fingers anxiously on the counter as if suddenly desperate to leave but unsure of how to do so. “Cocaine isn’t really my thing, you know”.

“What is your thing, then?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Did that mean that the Patron-Minette did not traffic cocaine, as they intel said, but other stuff? Worse stuff? Could their intel be wrong? Grantaire stared at Enjolras as if trying to decide if he was being serious or not.

“I don’t have a thing”, Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe I did in the past, but those days are over and I don’t do that anymore”, he said, maybe a bit too defensively. He avoided looking Enjolras in the eyes, searching for Musichetta instead.

“I know”, Enjolras nods comprehensively, because Grantaire is obviously referring to his previous engagement with the Patron-Minette’s activities. Enjolras is aware that he does not have any sort of contact with them anymore, but still, the information he holds could be crucial for their operation’s success. Grantaire was the key to find and arrest Jondrette, the Patron-Minette’s main head. “But bringing down Lopez is what brings down Sosa, don’t you think?”

Enjolras had found Courfeyrac’s idea of using Scarface references as a code very stupid and nonsensical, but Lamarque had deemed it good enough and had told their informant about it. According to Courfeyrac, Enjolras and the informant could make it look like they were just talking about a movie, when in fact Enjolras would be obtaining important information. Enjolras, on the other hand, found the plan stupid and risky and would have rather used another code that was more familiar to him, but when it came to Courfeyrac’s “genius” ideas, Lamarque always showed a soft spot for the younger man. Enjolras usually pretended it was because of Lamarque’s favoritism (which was non-existent), rather than because of Courfeyrac’s genius.

However, Grantaire was staring at Enjolras with a frown and a confused look, shifting his position on the chair so that he could lean forward towards the secret agent, the thoughts of showing off his biceps forgotten in his mind. Enjolras subconsciously frowned back, not understanding what had caused Grantaire’s reaction.

“Wait – what? _What_?”, Grantaire asked, as if actually… offended? “What do you mean, ‘bringing down Lopez brings down Sosa?’”

This was one of the few times in his life that Enjolras had been completely taken aback by something. He had thought he and Grantaire were on the same page, but that clearly was not the case. However, he couldn’t tell whether it was _he_ or Grantaire that were completely alienated from the conversation.

“What?”, was all Enjolras could respond. So much for years of training and studying in the academy – all the words seemed to have escaped his lips, for once. He found himself once more lost in the depth of Grantaire’s eyes, and tried to blink his eyes several times at an attempt to sharpen his awareness.

“Did you even watch the bloody movie or are you just trying to make cult references so you sound cool?”, Grantaire raised a judging eyebrow, but a mocking smile appeared on his lips. Enjolras felt humiliated by the smile, and immediately assumed a defensive posture. The last thing he wanted was for this meeting to go south. He wasn’t carrying, out of Lamarque’s personal request – it had been one of the conditions for the meeting –, but he still had two pocket knives on him. He would hate to make a scene on such a nice place such as the Corinthe, though. Of course, he would have if it became necessary – this was his job, after all. But he wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Plus, Courfeyrac was waiting for him in a car only three blocks away to offer him backup, if necessary.

His job was to keep the streets safe for the good of the common folk. His job was to make sure that scoundrels like Jondrette and his right hand man, Montparnasse, went to jail for the crimes they committed and for the violence they inflicted on Paris. His job was to protect innocent people from the violent rampages that always, always happened whenever a drug cartel took over a city. His job was to stab men who threatened his life in the neck before they could murder him and keep him from protecting his fellowmen. Even if doing such a thing would spoil such a pleasant evening for the many attendees of the Corinthe that night.

However, it would be a pity to stab Grantaire, Enjolras realized. Seeing those grey eyes that were clearly so full of life and taunting lose their spark and become dead and unfocused was something that Enjolras didn’t take pleasure in imagining. In fact, the thought made him shiver in disgust, and he forced himself to stop thinking about a dead Grantaire, even though his job had made him become used to seeing corpses all the time.

“I’m not sure I’m following you”, Enjolras said with honesty, because he clearly had no idea what Grantaire was going on about. Maybe Grantaire wasn’t trying to be hostile towards him. Enjolras hadn’t really watched Scarface; he just looked up for the plot on the internet and took note of the names of the main characters so that he could use as code. Grantaire, as his informant, would be required to know and understand the code, so that he could provide Enjolras with the information he needed. Maybe Enjolras should have watched the damn movie before trying to use it as a code, maybe he had just said something wrong and Grantaire had caught up to it.

Or maybe Grantaire wasn’t his informant.

But that wasn’t possible. Grantaire was a perfect match for the description Enjolras had been given, and he had moved closer to Enjolras even though Enjolras hadn’t invited him, as if he knew Enjolras’ intentions. He had also understood the Scarface reference right away. No, Grantaire was Enjolras’ informant – he had to be. Enjolras came to the conclusion that he _must_ have expressed himself poorly and it resulted in a misunderstanding – that was the only plausible explanation.

“Ok, first of all, killing Frank Lopez didn’t result on Sosa’s death; if you really think that’s what happened then you watched the movie all wrong, _or_ you’re pretty dumb”, Grantaire said nonchalantly, and actually had the audacity to roll his eyes when Enjolras gave him an indignant look. Before Enjolras could mutter an offended response, Musichetta appeared with a bottle of wine (it only took Enjolras a quick glance to realize that it was cheap, but not too cheap) and two glasses on her hands. She handed the bottle to Grantaire silently, placing the glasses on the counter with delicacy before giving Grantaire a devious wink and walking away from them once again. “Thank you, Chetta”, Grantaire shouted after her, and she waved a hand at him without turning to look, resuming her bartending tasks. “This woman is an angel. I owe her so much”, he sighed, trying to open the bottle for them. “By this I mean that I owe her a lot of money. A real fucking lot”, he added with a loud laugh. Enjolras found himself smiling back with humor. “Ah, this thing”, Grantaire complained, shaking his head with disapproval. “I don’t really think sharing a bottle of wine is suitable for a bar counter. Why don’t we take a table over there by the window?”

The suggestion sounded sincere, but it made Enjolras’ skin tingle all the same. If they sat by the window, they would be visible to any possible pursuers, and the position would leave Enjolras extremely exposed, practically with a target on his head. Looking around, he saw that there was a free table on the far corner of the Corinthe, in a very discreet location that wouldn’t be too visible from the exterior of the bar and would allow them to talk privately.

“Why don’t we sit there instead?”, Enjolras suggested, nodding at the preferred table. “We’ll have more privacy”, he added, and before Grantaire could muster a reply, Enjolras was already making his way towards the table. He took a seat, and Grantaire followed him, wine bottle and glasses in his hands.

“So, anyway”, Grantaire said, still attempting to open the bottle. His hands looked slippery, but Enjolras couldn’t tell if they were sweating or if he was just too inebriated to do a simple task such as opening a bottle. Enjolras vaguely wondered why Grantaire’s hands would be sweaty, and if it was a good idea to let him consume even more alcohol previous to the discussion of their interests. “Like I was saying, you must have watched the movie wrong if you thing Frank’s death led to Sosa’s death. Frank’s death led to Tony’s ascension, which lead to his increasing vice in coke, which led to his downfall, which led him to being arrested, which led to…”, Grantaire paused, freezing on his spot. His eyes became vacant as he stared at a point above Enjolras’ head, too taken aback by his own epiphany. “Holy shit”, he said, amusement evident in his voice. He stared at Enjolras with an unreadable look that could only be described as akin to admiration. He immediately veiled it with skepticism as soon as he realized it, however. “Holy shit, you’re right. I mean, if you’re one to believe in determinist shit and all that”, he shrugged dismissively.

“Ok”, Enjolras said, squinting his eyes in suspicion and confusion. Whatever game Grantaire was playing was becoming too tiring. As interesting and mesmerizing as Grantaire was, all Enjolras wanted to do was to get the information he needed and head back to Lamarque so that they could work on a plan of action. He was about to cut the bull and go straight to the point, now that they were sitting at a more reserved place, when Grantaire finally managed to uncork the bottle with a loud pop that made Enjolras’ hand instinctively shot up to his right thigh, where he usually kept his gun. Fortunately, Grantaire didn’t seem to realize that, too caught up by his own success at opening the bottle, and Enjolras carefully retrieved his hand from its defensive position, carefully watching his surrounding to make sure no one else had seen that. Grantaire poured wine for the both of them and sipped on his cup gladly, a never-faltering smile on his lips.

“Maybe you aren’t a pseudo-cult, after all”, Grantaire commented lightly, winking playfully at Enjolras in a way that made the agent’s belly twist with an uneasy feeling. There was something about this man, this Grantaire, that was affecting Enjolras more than it should. It was making him distracted, it was making him _overthink_ – it was making him act like a fool who gets startled by the popping of a bottle of cheap wine and reaches for his absent gun. Enjolras couldn’t tell exactly what it was about Grantaire that made him feel so nervous and defensive, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to leave. And yet, he didn’t have the info, and Grantaire was still smiling that ridiculous smile of his. “Sorry for calling you stupid, by the way”, he added after a few seconds of pondering. Enjolras simply nodded.

“Don’t worry about it. How about we just go straight to the point?”, he raised a suggestive eyebrow at Grantaire, meaning to get his job done and leave the Corinthe as soon as possible, so that he wouldn’t have to stare into Grantaire’s unsettling eyes any longer. It was the eyes, definitely the eyes that were making Enjolras uneasy. He subconsciously avoided staring at Grantaire’s arms or lips, which were now tinged a faint tone of red because of the wine.

“Whoa”, Grantaire arched his eyebrows in surprise at Enjolras’ straightforwardness. “Ok. What would the point be?”, he asked, and if there was a tinge of nervous anticipation in his tone, Enjolras was too distracted to notice it.

“You tell me”, Enjolras leaned forwards on the table, eyes fixed defiantly at Grantaire’s face (carefully avoiding staring at his lips). He grabbed his cup of wine and finally took a sip, his deep gaze never faltering. The taste of the wine was better than that of the beer, Enjolras reckoned, and he decided that could even bring himself to like it, if he tried it more often. Grantaire would have blushed at Enjolras’ unfaltering gaze, had he been an easily-embarrassed man. “I was hoping you could talk about Sosa or maybe Lopez. But preferably, Sosa”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

Lamarque had explained that Sosa was a code for Jondrette, and Lopez was a code for Montparnasse. Those two were the biggest heads of the Patron-Minette, and as far as records went, no living ABC agent had ever seen Jondrette face to face. Montparnasse had been spotted a few times, but not enough to have his picture taken. All they had on him was a bunch of sketches and a single voice record from one phone call. Jondrette, on the other hand, was a complete mystery – no one knew what he looked or sounded like. Sources informed that he was also very good at disguises, which meant he could basically be anyone – maybe even Grantaire.

This only made Enjolras feel even more nervous – there was something wrong with Grantaire, something that was making _Enjolras_ feel wrong. Enjolras, who had always been a concentrated, focused and straightforward person, was lost in vain wonderings and forbidden glances to Grantaire’s lips and neck, was distracted by a stupid movie plot, was drinking wine on a bar and chatting with an informant, for god’s sake! What if he had been set up? What if Grantaire wasn’t Grantaire, but Jondrette? That was the only explanation for the butterflies fluttering madly inside his stomach – not nervousness due to Grantaire’s appearance, but a gut instinct that told him there was something wrong about Grantaire. He should have ignored Lamarque’s request and brought his gun with him, because if Grantaire-Jondrette decided to make a move on him, Enjolras wasn’t sure he’d be able to defend himself appropriately.

“Man, you’ve got to decide whether you’re a fake fan or not”, Grantaire said teasingly, still smiling slightly, an ever-present mocking expression in his face. “Have you ever properly watch Scarface, or did you Wikipedia the plot in an attempt to impress a random drunk cinephile at a bar?”, he giggled, but Enjolras’ expression didn’t falter.

How did Grantaire know about that? Was he keeping track of Enjolras’ search history? Was his notebook tagged? Was his phone tagged? Was their operation compromised? What would Enjolras do? How could he possibly get out of this trap without endangering the lives of the civilians at the Corinthe? How to let Courfeyrac know he needed help without drawing attention?

“Hey, are you ok?”, Grantaire frowned at him when Enjolras did nothing other than staring at him with the same blank expression for seconds while he mentally planned an escape route. Blinking back at Grantaire, Enjolras squinted his eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine”, Enjolras forced a smile out, well aware of how fake it must have looked like. “I was just… thinking”, he said eerily.

“About Scarface?”, Grantaire teased, sipping at his wine.

“About Sosa”, Enjolras replied, eyes carefully fixed on Grantaire’s, searching attentively for any indication that the subject disturbed.

“Wow, you’re obsessed for a guy who’s never watched the movie”, Grantaire jested.

“I have watched the movie”, Enjolras said carefully, well aware that it was a lie. “And I know exactly how it goes”.

“Oh, yeah?”, Grantaire put on a fake-impressed look. “And how does it go?”

“The bad guys die and that’s _all_ that matters in the end”, Enjolras explained in a tone that indicated he wasn’t talking about just the movie anymore.

Grantaire studied his face for a long time with a curious expression, as if Enjolras was a book with an outstanding cover but no synopsis. He looked as if he was trying to uncover Enjolras with nothing but his mesmerizing grey eyes.

“You’re a weird dude”, Grantaire concluded after what felt like half an eternity of silence. “But I liked you”, he added, and then he reached for something inside his jacket and Enjolras’ hand immediately shot up to stop Grantaire from grabbing whatever he was going to retrieve from his pocket. Enjolras’ jump into action was so sudden he nearly knocked down his own chair and bumped on the table hard enough to make it drag across the floor loudly and the wine spill from the cups. He half-stood, half-sat, one of his palms leaning heavily on the table and Grantaire’s wrist tight in his grip as Enjolras kept it from moving. Enjolras had thought he had been reaching for a gun. Grantaire stared up at him with startled, confused eyes, and Enjolras suddenly became very aware of how paranoid he probably looked like. He was also aware of the looks they were receiving from the nearest costumers of the Corinthe.

Maybe he should listen to Lamarque and Courfeyrac when they insisted that he needed to stop working so much. Maybe he _really_ was becoming too stressed out.

Grantaire slowly pulled something  from his coat and showed Enjolras the spiraled edge of a sketchbook, which was what he was trying to retrieve from his coat. Enjolras relaxed with a deaf sigh, letting go of his bruising grip on Grantaire’s hand and sitting back at his chair, trying to recompose himself. Grantaire kept staring at him as if he had just grown a second head, but said nothing as he placed the sketchbook on the table with a hesitance that contrasted immensely with his previous lighthearted manner.

“Sorry”, Enjolras ended up blurting out, hating how embarrassed he felt for thinking that Grantaire would pull a gun at him out of nowhere, in the middle of a crowded bar, a bar of which he was clearly an assiduous frequenter. Musichetta knew him, and that probably was not the only person of the Corinthe’s staff who did. It would be stupid of Grantaire to murder Enjolras in the middle of a crowded place full of witnesses, witnesses who _knew_ him, and now that Enjolras thought about it, it would be stupid of Grantaire to set up a meeting with a secret agent at a bar _in which people knew him_ to begin with.

Enjolras reviewed the facts from the beginning. Lamarque’s informant had valued one thing and one thing only above all else during their negotiation via phone call: secrecy. He hadn’t wanted to reveal his name, and he hadn’t been willing to reveal anything about himself other than generic physical traits that could have belonged to anybody. He had made sure that the meeting took place somewhere as far away as possible from either the ABC’s headquarters or his own home, from what Lamarque could deduce. He had demanded the ABC agent who was supposed to meet him to do so unarmed. He had been almost hostile at the intensity with which he had required his conditions to be attended. If Grantaire really was the informant, then why would he set up a meeting with an ABC agent somewhere people knew him? For all he knew, Musichetta was sympathetic, but she could snitch up Grantaire’s meeting with Enjolras to anyone on the Patron-Minette at any given moment, and that didn’t sound like a risk Lamarque’s informant was willing to take.

In addition to that, Grantaire didn’t look or behave as an informant. He had blurted out his name the instant he approached Enjolras, he hadn’t properly caught up on any of the code the informant was supposed to know, and he had just suddenly reached for something inside his pocket without any warning in front of an ABC agent. All this data screamed at Enjolras that Grantaire couldn’t possibly be the informant he had scheduled a meeting with, but what were the _odds_ Grantaire would match the _exact_ description of the informant, know about the movie Enjolras used as code and go by the alias R, which was exactly his informant’s? Enjolras couldn’t rush into conclusions. Maybe this guy was incredibly reckless and dumb and wanted to test him to see if he was really ABC. Maybe he had drunk too much, as Enjolras had first thought. Maybe he was just playing games with Enjolras to make him doubt things. Maybe he had set him up.

“You’re a cop?”, Grantaire asked, taking a napkin from the desk and cleaning away the wine Enjolras had accidentally spilled when he bumped on the table. Enjolras’ attention was immediately caught by this: the conversation was finally going towards the direction Enjolras wanted. Still, it sounded weird of Grantaire to ask him if he was a cop, when he had negotiated with Lamarque while openly aware that he worked for ABC, not the police.

“Why do you ask?”, Enjolras replied, trying to sound as neutral as possible. Grantaire scoffed in something that could only be described as humorous disbelief.

“You legit just grabbed my arm because I reached into my pocket without warning”, Grantaire explained as it that was the most obvious fact in the entire world. If Enjolras hadn’t been trained better, he would have blushed in embarrassment. Grantaire was very observant indeed, even while drunk. “That’s totally a cop thing”.

“Well, I’m not a cop”, Enjolras cleared his throat, shifting on his seat. He took a sip of the wine before continuing. “If that’s what you’re worried about”.

“What was that about, then?”, Grantaire frowned, but he didn’t sound inquisitive, just curious. He disposed of the wine-soaked napkin by leaving it on the edge of the table, far away from his sketchbook. Enjolras’ mind was working at a hundred miles per hour.

“I don’t know anything about you other than your taste for cheap drinks and your name”, Enjolras shrugged, and Grantaire stepped in before he could continue.

“And my incredible knowledge on cult movies”, he added as if that was a very important piece of information. Enjolras squinted his eyes for the briefest of seconds before nodding.

“And your incredible knowledge on cult movies”, he agreed. “We’re sitting at the most reserved table in the Corinthe, and no one seems to be paying attention to us. How can I know you’re not just some crazy guy who will decide to pull out a knife and stab me?”

That was a stupid excuse and Enjolras knew it, but it wasn’t completely implausible. Enjolras could always justify it with paranoia, but he assumed Grantaire would be too drunk to notice he was bullshitting his way out of the situation. Most people never realized when Enjolras did so. Grantaire arched his eyebrows and smiled wide in amusement, but nodded.

“Wow, someone’s paranoid”, Grantaire commented humorously, and Enjolras mentally nodded at himself. “But you would have a fair point, I guess”, he shrugged.

“ _Would_ have?”, Enjolras frowned, not expecting Grantaire’s response.

“Yeah, your point would have been fair if _you_ hadn’t been the one to choose the incredibly reserved table that’s away from everyone’s eyes”, Grantaire gave Enjolras a blatantly fake apologetic look, that was probably more mocking than anything else. He looked triumphant, as if he had just on an argument against Enjolras. “In case you don’t remember, I wanted to sit by the window”.

Enjolras huffed out a breath in indignation at Grantaire’s sharp mind. There was definitely something weird about this guy, whether he was the informant or not. He made Enjolras feel like no matter how he tried, he could never win with him. And no one had ever made Enjolras feel like that, because Enjolras was always the best in everything he did. Going undercover, untangling networks, getting information – that was what Enjolras did best, and it was the reason he was one of Lamarque’s most trusted agents. But Grantaire – Grantaire made him feel stupid and slow, as if the man was constantly sharing a private joke with himself and Enjolras had no permission to know what the joke was. And Enjolras _hated_ not knowing.

He couldn’t have gotten to know Grantaire for more than half an hour, and yet the man infuriated him in a way that no one had ever managed to. Enjolras wanted to simultaneously punch Grantaire in the face for having such a smart-mouth and to talk to him during the course of the night so that he could get to know him better. He was caught staring at Grantaire’s red-tinted lips once again and this time it took Enjolras longer to avert his eyes.

“It’s ok, though”, Grantaire continued before Enjolras could come up with another excuse. “Some things you don’t want to share with a random stranger you just met at a bar. I can understand that”, he shrugged again, as if Enjolras’ lack of trust was something typical in his life. “I’m going to get a pen from my coat now”, he warned Enjolras slowly, as if talking to a child. “Hope you don’t freak out this time”.

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the teasing and watched silently as Grantaire retrieved a pen from the inner pocket of his coat. He nonchalantly opened his sketchbook and flipped through the pages so fast that Enjolras couldn’t make out more than several sketches that passed too fast for him to recognize the shapes. All Enjolras could tell was that Grantaire seemed to take drawing as more than a hobby, from the way his sketchbook was filled almost to the last page. Finally finding a blank page he could work on, Grantaire clicked his pen open and stared up at Enjolras.

“So, other than having a name, a taste for cheap drinks and an absurd knowledge on cult movies, I’m also an artist”, Grantaire explained to Enjolras, noticing his interest, even though Enjolras hadn’t asked. “You probably have one of those at your police station; you know, the guy with the pencil and the paper that draws the criminals that the victims describe?”, he teased, making Enjolras roll his eyes once again.

“I don’t have a police station; I told you I’m not a cop”, he replied, too defensively. It wasn’t a lie, but it was a bit too close to home.

“Alright, non-cop”, Grantaire fake-agreed, grinning. Enjolras fell the sudden urge to tear that insolent smile away from Grantaire’s face. “But anyway, it started out as a hobby but I ended up investing way too much time and energy into this and now I’m an artist of some sorts. I’m having a gallery opening in the next couple of weeks, if you’re interested”.

 _Why would I be interested_ , was Enjolras’ first thought at the invitation, but he said nothing. For somewhere deep inside his brain, he _was_ interested, even though he couldn’t possibly tell the reason why. Maybe Grantaire just _was_ a naturally interesting person.

“That sounds nice”, Enjolras nodded briefly, but Grantaire didn’t notice it, since he was too busy sketching something in his book. Enjolras couldn’t make out exactly what he was drawing, for Grantaire had tilted the sketchbook against the edge of the table so that his hand could move in a better angle. “What else do you do?”, Enjolras raised an inquisitive eyebrow. His gut feeling told him that Grantaire was not the person he was looking for, but he didn’t want to jump into assumptions. If there was still a chance that Grantaire was faking, Enjolras would sit there the whole night to uncover him.

“Other than drinking, watching movies and art? Not much”, Grantaire scoffed humorously, but Enjolras noticed a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “I also come to the Corinthe almost every night to get some inspiration and maybe someone to talk to, but no one has ever stayed as long as you”, he shrugged, eyes never leaving his sketchbook and hands never stopping to move. “You’re probably breaking a record today. Congratulations”, he continued, but his voice didn’t sound particularly congratulatory. Enjolras found himself frowning. Grantaire was an intriguing man; even though he was fairly aggravating, Enjolras couldn’t see any reason why one wouldn’t want to sit down and have a conversation with him.

And then Enjolras immediately kicked himself mentally, because he was getting distracted by Grantaire’s mannerisms and putting his job in the second plane and he couldn’t allow himself to do that. Jondrette was on the loose and trafficking was probably the lightest felony on his record. He needed to get the goddamn information and if Grantaire was incapable of giving him that, he would need to find someone who _was_ capable. This was a total waste of time.

And yet there was no simple way to clarify things by just directly asking Grantaire “hey so are you my informant on the Minette or not?”. Because if Grantaire was, this would probably send him away, and if he wasn’t, Enjolras would end up not only sounding delusional, but also accidentally providing classified information about a private investigation to a civilian and compromising the whole operation.

What bothered Enjolras the most about this whole situation was that he usually was so good at reading people’s intentions. He had walked into the Corinthe that night with absolute certainty that he would be able to spot the informant as soon as he saw him, but now, for the first time in his life, he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t tell whether or not Grantaire was his informant, because there were too many coincidences surrounding the man for it to be just a _coincidence_ after all. And yet, there were also too many indications that Grantaire was in no way related to the Patron-Minette, and all Enjolras could do was sit and wait, and that was killing him.

“What about you, though?”, Grantaire asked after Enjolras did nothing other than nod at his previous comment. Grantaire’s eyes were still glued to the sketchbook on his hand, and now there was a tinge of a frown between his eyebrows that indicated that he was either attempting to mimic the expression of whomever he was drawing, or he was making too much effort into drawing properly. Enjolras took a sip of his wine as he mentally went through his many fake origin stories that he had come up with for each of his undercover missions. He just needed to find one that suited Grantaire’s perception of the world, but just as he had picked what seemed to be the perfect one, Grantaire finally unglued his eyes from the sketchbook and looked up at Enjolras. “Oh, right, sorry. You don’t like sharing details of your personal life with someone you barely know, totally get it. I wish I could tell you I’m blurting away details about my life only because I’m slightly drunk, but I’d do it too if I were sober. What can I do? I’m too much of a social butterfly”, he shrugged. “Also, you seem to be a decent guy. At least decent enough that I don’t have to worry about you stalking me all the way to my art studio and kidnapping me”, he chuckled. When Enjolras did nothing other than smiling politely, because he had admittedly been thinking about stalking Grantaire just to find if he really had any connection with the Patron-Minette after all, Grantaire’s smile slowly faltered. “You’re not going to kidnap me, are you?”, he asked, smiling and frowning at the same time, and there was a hint of honesty in his question.

“What? No”, Enjolras immediately denied it, because Grantaire clearly had no clue that he was an agent and that stalking people was a regular part of Enjolras’ life. Or maybe he did and was just being provoking – the fact that Enjolras had no clue which option was the truth was driving him mad. “Why would I kidnap you?”, Enjolras chuckled nervously, trying to make the conversation lighter.

“I don’t know, maybe you thought me pretty and wanted to have a chance with me”, Grantaire raised a single defying eyebrow at Enjolras. It took all of his self-control not to blush.

“That is wrong in so many levels”, Enjolras started with sincerity, even though his heart had raced for some reason. “First of all, finding a person pretty doesn’t justify a kidnapping, and wanting to have a chance with them doesn’t, either. If someone finds another person attractive, they should respectfully let them know that and let them decide whether they reciprocate the person’s feelings or not”.

“And how would you, for instance, let someone know whether you found them attractive or not?”, Grantaire asked curiously, downing what was left of his wine. Enjolras noticed he had stopped drawing, but the sketchbook was still tilted away from Enjolras’ view.

Enjolras’ brow creased as he considered the question. He had never been one for dating, much for Courfeyrac’s dismay – his cause and his work had always been his first priorities in life. Anything else sounded too distracting and too much of a waste of time. He rarely experienced attraction – it had happened once, during his third year in college, and then only another time, during his academy training. None of those infatuations had lasted long, and Enjolras hadn’t pursued them. Now that he was confronted with this hypothesis, he wondered what he would have done if he had found it necessary to let his infatuations know about his attraction.

“I think I would just tell them”, Enjolras decided after a few moments, shrugging. He had always valued honesty as a great and admirable quality, and he couldn’t see any other way he would have wanted anyone to know about his feelings. “Maybe give them my number afterwards, should they return my feelings”.

A shit-eating grin blossomed in Grantaire’s face, making a dimple emerge on either side of his cheeks. He bit his lower lip like a child who was too excited about a private secret, looking like he found himself the brightest man alive.

“Et voilà”, he said, tearing the page he had been drawing on from his sketchbook and silently placing it on the table. He pushed it towards Enjolras slowly, almost shyly. Enjolras, confused, picked the paper up, and trying to maintain a neutral expression became the last thought in his mind as he faced the drawing.

Grantaire had drawn a perfect sketch of Enjolras, so uncannily similar to him that it felt like staring at a black-and-white photograph. Enjolras was seeing himself from Grantaire’s point of view: him, sitting at a table, a cup of half-drank wine in front of him, the background of the Corinthe directly behind him. He had even managed to capture the dim illumination of the place, and this time, Enjolras couldn’t help but to blush. He could recall perfectly: Grantaire hadn’t even spared him one single look as he sketched, which meant he had done everything from memory. Such a talent was astounding and Enjolras couldn’t stop gaping at the drawing, especially because there was a cartoonish thought-balloon drawn directly above his head, and inside the balloon was a phone number.

He stared up at Grantaire, who was smiling expectantly at Enjolras, despite of the obvious hesitation in his eyes. Enjolras alternated between staring at the drawing and staring at Grantaire, never managing to say anything.

“See how you’re frowning and looking all grumpy and annoyed?”, Grantaire ended up blurting out once more (an apparent habit of his) when he decided Enjolras was incapable of uttering a response. He pointed a finger at the drawing, indicating Enjolras’ indeed grumpy face. “That’s you deciding whether you’ll call me or not”.

Enjolras swallowed dry, completely taken aback. He hadn’t been expecting this. He had been expecting _anything_ but this. As soon as he saw that the drawing depicted himself, he was sure that Grantaire _was_ the informant and would probably use this perfectly drawn sketch to set Enjolras up to the Patron-Minette and out him as an ABC agent. On the other hand, as soon as he saw Grantaire’s phone number in it, he was sure that there was _no possible way_ Grantaire was the informant because _no_ informant, no matter how crazy, would _ever_ hit on and attempt to ask a secret agent out on a date. And all of a sudden, Enjolras couldn’t tell what he was feeling anymore. _Anger_ , that he had wasted time in a meeting with the wrong person and failed to get the information he needed? _Relief_ , that Grantaire, this interesting, intelligent, mesmerizing, ridiculously well-humored and social guy was not related in any way to the Patron-Minette? _Flattery_ , that Grantaire had thought him attractive enough to give his number? _Frustration_ , that the investigation on Jondrette was still going nowhere? Enjolras decided that he was feeling all of those feelings at the same time, which was never safe because whenever he allowed himself to feel too much all at once, he ended up doing impulsive things such as grabbing a napkin and writing down his own phone number.

“I’ve never done this before”, Enjolras says sincerely as he hands the napkin to Grantaire, because it’s all clear now. He hadn’t been able to read Grantaire like he usually did because Enjolras was only used to reading informants, criminals, drug dealers and gang leaders. Those were all people who shared similar characteristics, behaviors and were easy to read through. Enjolras had been well trained in the academy to be able to have at least a decent level of deduction, but Grantaire was clearly not an easy man to make deductions about. What was on his surface was obvious: a certain level of addiction in alcohol, use of humor to mask insecurity and self-deprecation, a quick-working mind and a sharp tongue, an incredible talent that was as natural as air for him and the unmistakable traces of extroversion that came along with the deep need to be around people and be accepted. Those were the basic traits that anyone could have noticed with the tiniest bit of observation. What was _underneath_ all that was a mystery, and Enjolras hated leaving a good mystery unsolved. The reason why Grantaire had come talk to Enjolras was because he had found him _pretty_ , and not because he knew he was an ABC agent, and even though Enjolras was aware that he should be angry because of the failure this meeting had turned out to be, he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew that he had found Grantaire attractive just as well. The way he spoke, his lips, his eyes, his neck, everything about the way he behaved from the moment they first talked: those things had called Enjolras’ attention on a subconscious level and only his body caught up with the signs. And even if all he was going to get from this exchange was a one-night-stand, why should he complain? Courfeyrac had done the same a few times before, and so had Le Cabuc.

“I can tell”, Grantaire smiled teasingly, taking the napkin and staring at it as if it was pure gold before putting it carefully away in the pocket of his jacket. “You don’t look like the type of guy who goes to bars to find hook ups”.

“That’s because I’m not”, Enjolras said, taking a sip of his remaining wine only so that he would have something to occupy his hand with. “I’m also not the type of guy who just gives a personal number to a complete stranger in a bar, so consider yourself lucky”.

“Oh, trust me”, Grantaire chuckled nervously patting at the pocket of his jacket. “I must definitely be the _luckiest_ man alive because I just got your number, and I don’t even know your name”.

Enjolras hesitated for a few moments, suddenly aware of how recklessly he was behaving. He had just given his personal number to Grantaire, and was about to give him his _name_. This was definitely against protocol. Enjolras had come to the Corinthe to meet an informant and get information about the Patron-Minette, not to find a date. A sense of guilt invaded him and suddenly all he wanted to do was to stand up and leave, leave the drawing and Grantaire’s number behind him. Lamarque would be disappointed in him for not getting the information. _Enjolras_ was disappointed in himself. He had allowed himself to be distracted from his job and in indulging in such frivolous behavior, he was allowing thousands to be at the mercy of a violent city that reeked of traffic and the crime that was a direct consequence of it. Chatting with Grantaire for an hour at the Corinthe was one thing, but giving him his number? Planning to go on a date? Sharing personal information? That was the sort of thing for which Enjolras did not have time for, for which he had never had time for. His work needed to come first.

“That’s ok”, Grantaire added when he sensed Enjolras’ hesitation. “I get it, you’re not a sharer. That’s fine. I’ll just call you non-cop until you’re comfortable with telling the creepy stranger who sketched you without asking for permission your real name”.

And there was something, something about the way in which Grantaire accepted Enjolras’ reluctance so easily and without question, the way in which he never, not even once, attempted to pressure Enjolras into sharing things he clearly wasn’t comfortable with sharing, the way in which he was just so open and willing to let Enjolras take his time, even though he had blurted out details about his life, that made Enjolras feel easy and reassured that he could trust the man in front of him. This was not a usual feeling for Enjolras: being an agent forced him to always distrust people until he was absolutely certain that he could have good reason to believe them. The only person who had ever managed to earn his trust so quickly had been Courfeyrac, his partner and best friend, and only because Enjolras had decided to trust his gut feeling that told him that Courfeyrac was worthy of his trust. On that moment, his gut feeling was telling him exactly the same about Grantaire.

“Enjolras”, he blurted out, much in the same way Grantaire always seemed to blurt out information about himself. “My name is Enjolras”.

Grantaire’s smile went from ear to ear; dimples more highlighted that ever. Enjolras faintly decided that dimples were a genetic condition, and the informer would have probably added them to his description if he had them. There were no dimples in Lamarque’s list of the informer’s physical traits, but there were two dimples in either of Grantaire’s cheeks.

“It suits you”, Grantaire commented, still smiling. “ _Ange_ ”.

“Don’t do that”, Enjolras reprehended, and though his voice was strict, it had no rudeness in it. He really didn’t like when people gave him nicknames – his normal name worked just fine for him. Grantaire laughed loudly at this.

“Oh, ok, no pet names for the mysterious guy”, he teased, leaning forwards on the table. “Though you do look a lot like an angel”, he smirked. There was something in Grantaire’s eyes as he said the words that sent shivers running down Enjolras’ spine.

“You must be very drunk”, Enjolras commented after a few moments of staring at each other, because there was something about this man in front of him that made him feel unnaturally out of balance and completely embarrassed. He didn’t know how to respond to Grantaire’s words, and he had no idea what was the protocol at that kind of social situation. This was really outside Enjolras’ comfort zone – he never went to bars unless a mission required it, and he never, _ever_ flirted with strangers he had just met. Courfeyrac would probably have a heart attack as soon as Enjolras told him about Grantaire – _if_ Enjolras ever told him. Even though they were allowed to have dates and relationships and partners, Enjolras couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that what he was doing – getting involved with Grantaire – was extremely unprofessional of him.

“You’ve seen nothing yet”, Grantaire punctually raised his glass and took a sip, with a worrying casualty in his tone. “But you don’t seem too fond of the wine. Does it taste as bad as the horse-piss beer?”, he asked curiously.

“Oh, no. No”, Enjolras shook his head, and his first instinct was to take his own glass and take a sip, just to prove to Grantaire that he had liked the wine the man had bought him. He immediately realized how stupid that would be, however, since his wine had been sitting mostly untouched ever since they moved to the table. “It’s definitely _better_ than the beer”, he raised his eyebrows as if to make a statement, and Grantaire giggled happily. “I’m just not… fond of alcohol in general”, he shrugged.

“What a prude”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, but Enjolras could see the teasing and the humor in his face. Still, Enjolras felt slightly offended that Grantaire had chosen that word to define him. “But I guess we’re opposites, then. You despise alcohol; I use it as fuel. You’re an angel of marble; I am a gargoyle. I’m a sharer; you’re reserved. You’re Apollo; I’m Dionysus”.

Enjolras frowned, painfully aware of how often self-deprecation seemed to appear in Grantaire’s discourse. Grantaire seemed to notice his displeasure, for before Enjolras could even speak up, he recurred to his usual habit of interrupting him:

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Wine makes me run my mouth off”, he shrugged, and took another sip in a way that Enjolras interpreted as provocation. “Ok, maybe it’s just my personality, I don’t know. People always complain that I talk too much”.

“It’s ok”, Enjolras reassured, even though he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to Grantaire’s talkativeness. Dealing with Courfeyrac’s cheerful manners and his constant chatter was something, but talking to Grantaire, someone with whom Enjolras had accidentally started a conversation, was something completely different. He felt a tinge of regret for giving Grantaire his number so quickly. He had just met this man and sure, Enjolras had found him attractive, but so what? There were many people in his life that were attractive and Enjolras had never given them his phone number immediately after talking to them. He felt confused, angry and frustrated all at once, wanting desperately to leave and never see Grantaire again and simultaneously wanting to stay and uncover all of the man’s mysteries so that he could find out what it was about him that had caught Enjolras’ attention so much.

“You’re very pensive”, Grantaire commented absentmindedly. “And I don’t mean right now, I mean… as a whole. You seem to always be lost in deep thought”.

The sincerity with which Grantaire made such a personal and intimate remark about him made Enjolras feel the moral urge to return such sincerity.

“I was just trying to figure out what is it about you”, Enjolras commented, and as much as he wanted to avert his eyes from Grantaire’s, he kept his gaze fixed on the man in front of him.

“About me?”, Grantaire chuckled, almost surprised.

“Yes”, Enjolras nodded solemnly. “There’s something about you… I can’t quite put my finger on it. I find it captivating”.

“Captivating”, Grantaire repeated, face completely blank for a split second before a blinding grin blossomed on his face, ear to ear. Enjolras found himself smiling back slightly. “Well, that’s _definitely_ going into my _very short_ list of compliments”.

“Why do you do that?”, Enjolras asked without really meaning to. Grantaire hesitated.

“Do what?”

“This”, Enjolras gestured vaguely at the empty space between them on the table. “This constant… self-deprecation. You talk as if you think so little of yourself”.

Grantaire hesitated for a few seconds before responding, looking, to Enjolras, as if he was trying to come up with a plausible excuse that didn’t make him sound too weird.

“Well, just because you’ve broken the record of sticking with me, pretty boy, don’t think that I assume you’ll last too long”, he shrugged, and there was a lopsided smile on his lips that made Enjolras unsure of whether he was being serious or not. This only made Enjolras grow more frustrated towards Grantaire, and yet, more fond. “You’re probably find out in little to no time that I am a really annoying person, _if_ you haven’t found that out already”.

“I don’t think so”, Enjolras immediately blurted out, more over politeness than anything else. He _did_ find Grantaire annoying, but that wasn’t enough to scare him away. There was something about the irritating way he teased and provoked Enjolras that made him feel even more attracted to Grantaire. Maybe there was something wrong with Enjolras, and not with Grantaire himself, after all.

“No need to sugar coat me, I’ve called you stupid and fake and a thousand other things I can’t remember right now”, he shook his wine glass as if to make a point, “and I’ve been blabbering at your pretty ears for the whole night so far. Just admit that you find me a itsy bitsy annoying”.

“I don’t”, Enjolras lied. Part of him wanted to punch Grantaire in the face and the other part wanted to kiss him.

“Admit it”, Grantaire insisted, dragging out the words. Enjolras huffed out a breath.

“No”, Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Just do it”, Grantaire grinned.

“Your flirting techniques are shit”, Enjolras shook his head disapprovingly at Grantaire, who laughed loudly.

“See! You’re annoyed. I win”, he shrugged, leaning back against the rest of his chair.

“And how does that make you feel?”, Enjolras asked curiously, like an adult would ask to a petulant child.

“Meh. Your robotic expression kills off the joy of it, really”, he shrugged, not even noticing the way Enjolras’ face dropped at this. The insult went unnoticed by Grantaire, who continued: “The funny part of annoying people is getting them all riled up. You just sit there with your impassive marble face, like a party pooper”.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see me truly annoyed”, Enjolras responded.

“Ooh”, Grantaire smiled, leaning back towards the table. “Too edgy for me, right? What does it take to annoy you?”

“Are you an actual child?”, Enjolras asked in a flat tone, raising a judging eyebrow.

“Is it politics? I bet it’s politics”, Grantaire commented, staring deeply into Enjolras’ face as if attempting to read it. The way Enjolras’ eyes widened in surprise for a split second at the accuracy of his guess made Grantaire’s dimples reappear from the wideness of his smile. Grantaire’s ability to read Enjolras easily as a book was uncanny, and Enjolras’ inability to deduce a single thing about Grantaire was frustrating. Maybe they truly _were_ opposites, except Enjolras couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad.

 _Or maybe Grantaire really is the informant and he’s playing you_ , a tiny voice whispered at the back of Enjolras’ head. Though that would justify Grantaire knowing so much about him, there were plenty of evidence that suggested that Grantaire wasn’t the informant.

“Jesus, I’m too good at this”, Grantaire chuckled, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe in himself. “I’m pretty sure you’re one of those angry internet SJWs that argue with anyone about anything and write three-pages-long texts whenever someone says something slightly sexist, right?”

Enjolras _knew_ that was bait, he was extremely aware of it, but the mockery and the insolence at Grantaire’s tone sparkled a twinge of fury and indignation in his chest and he couldn’t quite let his remark go unanswered.

“You think that sexist remarks, as slight as they may be, should not be called out?”, Enjolras raised an inquiring and disapproving eyebrow. Grantaire shrugged.

“I think it’s not gonna make a difference whether you call them out or not”, he replied absentmindedly, sounding as if he considered himself to be undeniably correct. His petulance angered Enjolras further, and he tried to control himself, knowing that if he gave in to Grantaire’s teasing, he would only be proving the man’s point. He had to be the grown up in the situation. “People aren’t gonna give a shit about what a blond white guy on the internet says, _especially_ if it’s three-pages-long. They’ll just tl;dr you and continue living their sexist lives”.

“But at least I will have tried”, Enjolras retorted. “At least my opinion will be accounted for, and it will be available for whoever wants to read it. I will have done my part”.

“Ok, one, that’s dangerously self-absorbed, and two, it makes it sound like you’re just being angry on the internet to feel better about yourself”, Grantaire noted. “Maybe you should think your arguments through before saying them out loud”.

“Excuse me?”, Enjolras raised an indignant eyebrow. He wanted to get up and leave, taking his phone number back from Grantaire’s pocket before he did so, but part of him wanted to win the argument, even though he could feel himself getting riled up. He hated that he was so awarely giving in to Grantaire’s provocations, and yet he could not stop himself. No one had ever refuted him like that before, so unrestrainedly and blatantly direct.

“Oh, c’mon. Saying your opinion ‘will be available’ is equivalent to saying it’s the only opinion worth reading”, Grantaire took a sip of his wine, watching Enjolras intensely from behind his glass.

“No, it isn’t”, Enjolras refuted. “I never said my opinion was better than others’; only that it would also be accounted for”.

“But you think it’s better”, Grantaire remarked, smile never leaving his face. “C’mon, don’t lie to yourself now. You think you’re right and everyone else is wrong. You’re thinking that about me _right now_ ”.

“Only because you _are_ wrong”, Enjolras huffed out a breath. “You’re misjudging me based on false data. Sexism shouldn’t be excused in any circumstances, and most times, people only perpetuate behaviors they have been learning ever since they were children and thus, aren’t able to perceive and change what they were nurtured into believing. Calling them out on their sexism, as little as it is, is a way of showing them that the behavior they have learned to normalize is wrong and not only _can_ be changed, but _should_ ”.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras for a long time, wine-tinted lips slightly parted and eyes shining. He looked absolutely dumbfounded for a few seconds, unblinking eyes focused so intensely on Enjolras that it made it look like he feared Enjolras would disappear should he blink or look away. This look of pure adoration, however, was broken after a few seconds, as another shit-eating grin slipped through Grantaire’s face and replaced the admiration that had been there before.

“Do you rehearse that in front of the mirror every morning before you go to work just in case you run into someone who disagrees with you?”, Grantaire teased, and Enjolras let out a heavy, clearly annoyed sigh. He reached for the drawing Grantaire had made him, folding it carelessly and placing it inside his pocket. If Grantaire was an informant, after all, Enjolras wouldn’t want him to have any pictures or drawings of himself, since his identity was unknown to the Patron-Minette. Before he could get up from his chair, however, Grantaire reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Wait”, he said, and beneath the clearly forced humor in his tone, Enjolras could notice a hint of desperation. He stopped in his tracks, halfway between sitting and standing up. Grantaire’s grip was firm around his wrist, but not enough to prevent Enjolras from leaving should he really want to. “Wait. Sorry. I’m being a dick to you”.

“You are entitled to having an opinion of your own”, Enjolras explained dryly. “I’m also entitled to not agreeing with it”.

“Of course”, Grantaire nodded, looking more mature than he ever had throughout the night. “Still, I’m sorry. I’m just messing with you, but I think I got too far”.

“That’s ok”, Enjolras said, even though he still felt irritated. He slowly sat back at his seat, and Grantaire let go of his wrist, even though he let his hand linger beside Enjolras’ at the top of the table.

“But you do have a lot to say about sexism for a guy whose favorite movie is Scarface”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow. Enjolras couldn’t decide whether his tone was joking, teasing or curious, so he decided to be straightforward.

“My favorite movie isn’t Scarface”, Enjolras said. Grantaire leaned forwards on the table, fingers nervously tapping on the wooden surface as if unsure whether he should hold Enjolras’ hand or not. He decided not to, letting his hand rest beside Enjolras’ instead.

“Then why on Earth was that the first subject you decided to talk about with a random guy in the Corinthe?”, Grantaire chuckled. Enjolras huffed out a breath. Grantaire was annoying and childish and asked too many questions for his own good.

“I don’t know”, Enjolras bullshitted. He couldn’t exactly tell Grantaire that he had been expecting him to be an informant on a complex organized traffic gang. “You seem like the kind of guy who would like the movie”.

“Oh”, Grantaire raised two teasing eyebrows. “Trying to be endearing, were you?”

Something about the way Grantaire looked at him made Enjolras feel all warm inside, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. As much as he was extremely overbearing, something in the teasing grin he gave Enjolras before provoking him, or the way he chuckled as if Enjolras was the funniest man alive, or the way he couldn’t take his eyes off Enjolras, or the way in which he had drawn Enjolras with absolute perfection without even looking at him for reference once; all these things made Enjolras’ affection overwhelm his irritation at Grantaire’s purposeful obnoxiousness. And even though it was unprofessional of him, he wanted to get to know Grantaire better.

Except he was an ABC agent, who was working on a very important operation to take down one of the biggest threats their agency had ever encountered. He didn’t have time for dating Grantaire or getting to know him better. Having a one-night-stand with him, on the other hand, sounded unfair and unlike Enjolras. Grantaire seemed to be a complex, interesting and mysterious man, who could only be deserving of one’s whole attention and focus. Leading him on had been cruel – Enjolras could never have a relationship with him, or at least not the relationship Grantaire, or anyone else, would deserve. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep desire to turn his back and leave, forget about this mistake of a night and about Grantaire’s existence, because that way things would be easier. But how could he ever forget Grantaire? Easy-going Grantaire, extremely extrovert Grantaire, social butterfly Grantaire who clearly drank too much for his own good and was too self-deprecating even though he seemed to be extremely talented. Grantaire who had drawn him from memory in less than five minutes, Grantaire who apparently knew a lot about cinema and arts and mythology, Grantaire who seemed to be so interesting and so worthy of Enjolras’ time. Frustration filled Enjolras’ heart once more as he, for the first time in his life, found himself divided between his duty to his country and his humanly desires for a normal life.

But he was an agent. He had sworn to give all that he had to protect his patria and to do what was right. Protect the common folk. Guarantee that he would do everything in his power to take down whatever threatened the lives of the citizens of France. Forcing himself to fall out of love was occupational hazard. He couldn’t have Grantaire. God, he deeply wanted to, but he couldn’t. And leading him on just to refuse him had been downright _cruel_.

He should have thought this through, he should have refused Grantaire from the moment he realized that he wasn’t the informant – this way things would have been easier. But now, Enjolras had gotten to know the tiniest bit about Grantaire, enough to be tempted to go out with him; enough to know that he would most definitely blame himself for Enjolras’ refusal. He would probably think that he had been too annoying, or that Enjolras was just like all the other man he had flirted with at the Corinthe before – at first, interested, but then driven away by Grantaire’s personality.

Maybe this was just Enjolras being petty, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want Grantaire to think he was like all the other man he had encountered before.

Enjolras came to two conclusions: the first was that he really needed to leave. Not only because the atmosphere at the table was growing tenser by the second after Grantaire’s affectionate and yet teasing remark, but also because he was wasting worktime that was resulting in nothing. Every minute he spent sitting with Grantaire at the Corinthe was an extra minute for Jondrette to run away. The second was that he wanted to get to know Grantaire better. He wanted to spend more time with him and talk and get to unravel whatever it was about him that made Enjolras feel so lost and out of balance. Grantaire was a book that Enjolras wanted to read completely, but he couldn’t put his own amusement in front of his work on that exact moment. And yes, maybe this _was_ unprofessional, but he had never seen Courfeyrac or Le Cabuc get reprimanded for having their casual affairs and, in Courfeyrac’s case, serious relationships. Maybe Enjolras could indulge in this as well.

“I should get going now”, Enjolras said, trying his best to ignore the way Grantaire’s face fell slightly, almost disappointed. “I have a lot of work to get done tonight”. Before he could continue and say that he planned on seeing Grantaire again, the man impulsively blurted out:

“Is it ok if I text you?”. Upon noticing Enjolras’ surprise, he clarified: “It’s just, I’m not sure if you are going to call, and it’s ok if you don’t, and if you don’t want me to then I won’t text you, I just wanted to make the boundaries clear here”, he laughed nervously.

“I was actually going to say that I hope to see you again”, Enjolras patiently replied, smiling sincerely at the relief that appeared on Grantaire’s face. “But yes, it’s ok to text me. Though you should know that it’s not unusual for me to take a long time to reply; I’m always caught up at work”, he explained, remembering Courfeyrac’s constant complaint that Enjolras took too long to answer to his texts. Grantaire smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine”, Grantaire smiled, and suddenly looked awkward, which was, from what Enjolras could tell so far, a very unusual sight for him. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t bring himself to. Enjolras wasn’t sure of what he should say as well, because Grantaire confused him and he couldn’t find himself completely certain about what was right or appropriate to tell him. He felt his heart twist with the frustration of lacking certainty – something that seldom occurred to him – and decided that it would be better to leave at once. He still had a report to fill, and a drug cartel to take down.

“How much did the wine cost?”, Enjolras asked, reaching for his wallet. Grantaire frowned at him, and then his face dropped at the realization that Enjolras was actually planning to pay the bill.

“No, don’t worry about it; Chetta and I have a deal”, he explained, waving a dismissive hand. “I have a tab here”.

“You don’t need to put it on your tab”, Enjolras said, fishing out some money from his wallet.

“No”, Grantaire said vehemently, refusing to take the money from Enjolras’ hand, which he outstretched towards the man. “Definitely not. I’m not letting you pay for it; I was the one who offered you the wine”.

“But –“, Enjolras tried to protest, but Grantaire raised his index finger in a way that much resembled a scolding mother.

“Consider this as me paying for our first date”, Grantaire said, face carefully ridden of emotion as if not to end up betraying himself. Enjolras suppressed a blush. “You can get to be the gentleman next time, if you want, though I’m pretty sure you don’t appreciate the notion”. There was a very discreet hint of expectation in his voice, but Enjolras didn’t comment on it. He reluctantly withdrew his hand and put his money back into his wallet, looking displeased.

“Fine”, Enjolras said. He hated having people pay things for him – he had a job and money and he could take care of himself very well. Also, he wasn’t planning on taking the whole bill, but actually splitting it up with Grantaire, as he considered to be correct. However, it was clear that Grantaire was not about to give in to Enjolras’ protests, so he thought it better to let the subject go. Maybe he would take Grantaire somewhere fancy on their next date, just to spite him.

God, what was going on with him? He was sitting there at the Corinthe, planning future dates with strangers instead of getting his damn work done. He shouldn’t have drunk that horrible beer and then mixed it with wine; it was the only possible explanation as to why he had indulged into terrible decisions such as this.

But, staring up at Grantaire’s expectant face and sparkling eyes, Enjolras couldn’t quite convince himself that getting to meet Grantaire was a terrible decision. In fact, he found himself rather fond of the idea of getting to know him _better_. It didn’t make any sense, and that was probably why Enjolras had been so attracted into this situation in the first place.

“So”, Enjolras said after what felt like hours of staring at Grantaire’s face, but couldn’t have been more than a few awkwardly silent seconds. “I should go now”.

“Ok”, Grantaire nodded, showing that he understood. “Would you like me to walk you home?”, he asked, and his tone was not malicious, but rather… concerned. “It’s not safe to be alone in the streets at this hour”.

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire’s ignorance, not out of arrogance but of fondness. If only Grantaire knew the things Enjolras was capable of doing, the training he had received.

Would he ever get to know that?

“There’s no need”, Enjolras told him politely. “I can take care of myself”.

“I never said you couldn’t”, Grantaire shrugged, as if trying to make light of his offer, as if it had been just casual. “I just think that you, as a fake Scarface fanboy, should be careful as to not go and do something stupid such as reacting to a robbery. If a guy asks for your wallet, just give it to him; don’t try to go all hero and get yourself stabbed by a junkie”, he smirked.

“Have you turned the whole ‘let’s-annoy-Enjolras’ into a personal goal?”, Enjolras asked, trying to sound as teasing as Grantaire had. He couldn’t tell if he had succeeded, but Grantaire smiled that dimply-smile at him again, so he took that as a victory.

“You bet”, Grantaire responded simply, actually winking at Enjolras.

“Good luck, then”, Enjolras replied, standing up from the table slowly enough so that Grantaire could accompany him. The man did so, and they both walked towards the door of the Corinthe. Enjolras missed the way Musichetta raised an inquiring eyebrow at Grantaire and gave him a thumbs up as they passed, too focused on the drizzle that was still falling outside. It was cold – very cold – and he only hoped Courfeyrac had bothered to wait for him in the car on their hidden spot three blocks away from the Corinthe. Enjolras had spent a lot of time in the bar, but he knew Courf wouldn’t be unprofessional to the point of leaving him on his own in the middle of a meeting with an informant. In fact, it was rather surprising that he hadn’t texted Enjolras to check on him and complain about his delay yet.

“See you soon, mon ange”, Grantaire said sweetly as they reached the door, taking one of Enjolras’ hands and planting a kiss on the back of it. Enjolras couldn’t help but to blush slightly at this, but he hoped that he could blame his rosy cheeks on the cold temperature.

“See you soon”, he repeated, ignoring the nickname and offering Grantaire a bright and sincere smile. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to give Grantaire a hug, a kiss on the cheek or a peck on the lips, so he decided it would be safest to mimic the man and planted a kiss on the top of one of Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire seemed to be taken aback at this, and stared at Enjolras very silently, the hint of a smile still spread on his parted lips. Turning around, Enjolras pulled the Corinthe door open and stepped out into the dark, cold night, the ringing bell on the top of the door serving as a breaking point between the two places. Stepping out of the Corinthe almost felt like stepping out of a dream – the yellowish, warm and cozy ambient that, though had been filled with unintelligible conversations and loud noises, allowed Enjolras to feel quite at ease was replaced by the cold, unrelenting Parisian night. The contrast was so sharp that Enjolras felt as if he had been struck with a bucket of cold water, and in the few seconds he stood there, just outside the door, he could feel the heat he had built up inside the bar dissipating from his body and into the night. He looked back, just to make sure that the place had been real, and was able to spot Grantaire walking back towards the barstools, where Musichetta greeted him with a teasing grin. They both turned back to look at Enjolras, expecting him not to be there anymore, but Grantaire’s face flushed as he realized that not only Enjolras was still there, but he was also looking directly at him. Seeing Grantaire inside the Corinthe, but being separated from that place by the door and the thick glass that formed the windows, only increased Enjolras’ sensation that the past hour had been some sort of fever-induced dream.

The street was silent and cold whereas the Corinthe had been warm and full of life and noise. In there, Enjolras had been able to put his work aside, even if for just a few moments, but out in the street he was brutally reminded of his duty and his pledge to serve his patria. Dreams and affection and thoughts of Grantaire’s lips only worked inside the Corinthe – out here, in real life, he needed to get his job done. Pulling his coat closer to himself to preserve heat, in a very similar way he had done before stepping inside the Corinthe an hour before, Enjolras began his trek towards Courfeyrac’s car at their meeting place. He would have to figure out the blossoming feelings inside his chest later, when he didn’t have a report to make and a cartel to run down.

Enjolras was so distracted in his failing attempts at not thinking about Grantaire that he missed the alien way in which the cover of the dumpster in the back alley of the Corinthe was positioned. The cover of the dumpster was askew, as if there were too many trash bags inside it, but if Enjolras had bothered to pay attention to it, he would have noticed the sticky trail of cooling blood at one of the edges. He would also have noticed the sickening sight of still, cold fingers dangling from the ajar space between the dumpster and its cover. In fact, if Enjolras had bothered to enter the alley and look inside the dumpster, he would have found the body of a tall man with dark, curly hair and grey eyes that were open and dead.

If Enjolras had bothered to look inside the dumpster, he would have found the body of a man uncannily similar to Grantaire, if only for the fact that he did not have dimples.

If Enjolras had bothered to look inside the dumpster, he would have found the dead body of the informant he was supposed to meet that night.

Instead, he continued his walk to find Courfeyrac, thoughts of Grantaire lingering in his busy mind, which remained blissfully unaware of the perils that were yet to come.


	2. II

Enjolras discreetly looked over his shoulders to make sure he wasn’t being followed before pulling the door car open and entering it. He was immediately met by a much warmer atmosphere and Courfeyrac’s anxious fidgeting on the driver’s seat as he turned on his side to face Enjolras.

“So?”, Courfeyrac asked, a mixture of impatience and insatiable curiosity in his voice. “What took you so long? Did you get our info?”

Enjolras sighed, fishing his phone out of his pocket in order to text Lamarque. He tried to sound as casual as possible as he responded:

“No”.

There were a few seconds of silence in which Courfeyrac clearly waited for him to elaborate his answer, and Enjolras knew he should just get to the point and share what had happened in the Corinthe, otherwise his partner could grow suspicious. But he also knew exactly how much teasing he would receive from Courfeyrac for spending an hour inside a bar with a man that wasn’t their informant.

“No…?”, Courfeyrac urged, raising a suspicious eyebrow at Enjolras, who was just resuming his text to Lamarque that warned him the informant hadn’t showed up. As soon as Enjolras hit send, he put the phone back into his pocket and turned to face Courfeyrac.

“There was a man in the Corinthe who matched the informant’s description perfectly. But it wasn’t him. The actual informant never showed up, so we’re at the same point as we were before”, Enjolras explained briefly, hoping – and only hoping – that Courfeyrac wouldn’t want to go over the details about Enjolras’ meeting. Of course, that would be asking too much, since there was no fooling Courfeyrac.

“So it took you an hour to realize the guy wasn’t _our_ guy?”, Courfeyrac squinted his eyes suspiciously, frowning. Enjolras averted his eyes to the dashboard.

“We should head back to the base”, Enjolras suggested with forced casualness. “Lamarque needs to be informed of what happened”.

“Yeah, and so should I, since I’m your partner”, Courfeyrac scoffed matter-of-factly. “What are you not telling me?”

Enjolras sighed again, conflicted. In one hand, he trusted Courfeyrac with his life. They had known each other ever since the first semester in university, and had been recruited to the ABC together. Courfeyrac was not only his partner, but also his best friend and the one person Enjolras could confide in, even though Courf could have some trouble keeping secrets sometimes. It felt like betraying Courfeyrac’s trust, not telling him about Grantaire, but Enjolras was also weary of the amount of teasing he would have to hear should he tell him. But if he was to be honest with himself, it wasn’t the threat of being teased that held him back. It was the fear or reproach. Not that he had any right to reproach him: Courfeyrac was an excellent and brilliant agent, just as much as Enjolras was, and the two of them were in the circle of Lamarque’s most trusted personnel. But as much competent as Courf was, he was also very familiar with breaking some rules that weren’t exactly major or too important, but that were rules all the same. Enjolras had always made his reproach of Courfeyrac’s tendency to turn a blind eye to some rules very vocal, but that had been before he became unprofessional himself. Now that he had gotten personally involved with Grantaire, it was hypocritical of him to criticize Courfeyrac or Le Cabuc for not following every rule of the department.

“Hello? Earth to Enjolras? What the hell is happening?”, Courfeyrac insisted when Enjolras remained silent. “Why don’t you want to tell me what went down in the Corinthe? Is it because the informant was hot? Oh my god, I bet he was hot, wasn’t he?”, Courfeyrac teased, and Enjolras hated it. He hated how easily Courfeyrac always seemed to read him, and he hated that Grantaire was the only other person who had the same ability. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it from his partner much longer, and maybe, deep down, he didn’t really want to hide it.

“Nothing happened”, Enjolras explained with a tired, frustrated tone, leaning over towards the driver seat so that he could turn the key and start the car. Courfeyrac took the wheel, but Enjolras knew that wouldn’t be enough to diverge his attention from the subject. Even if it was, it wouldn’t last too long. “I thought he was the informant but he wasn’t. I tried to use the stupid Scarface code but he wasn’t our guy. He just turned out to be a huge enthusiast of the movie and kept correcting me about it”.

This earned a loud, amused laughter from Courfeyrac, who had entered the road and was staring at the path ahead of him rather than looking at Enjolras.

“You’ve got to be kidding me”, he commented. “What are the fucking odds? Are you sure he wasn’t our man?”

Enjolras directed Courfeyrac an unimpressed look that had also a hint of indignation.

“Do I look like someone who would mistake an informant for a civilian?”, he asked in a deadpan. Courfeyrac shrugged.

“From what you just said, you did at first”, he argued, but it felt alien to Enjolras’ ears. He suddenly realized that it was because he had been expecting to hear Grantaire’s malice or mockery in Courfeyrac’s tone, but Courfeyrac wasn’t teasing him. He was just stating a fact.

“That is unimportant”, Enjolras dismissed him with another sigh. “What matters is that he wasn’t the man we were looking for, and now we need to go back and talk to Lamarque to see what we should do”.

“Sure, but wait a minute”, Courfeyrac basically ignored everything Enjolras had just said. “If he wasn’t our guy then why the hell did you stay in the Corinthe for almost an hour? You didn’t clear that up yet, mister”, he commented playfully.

“I wanted to make sure that I was right and he wasn’t the informant”, Enjolras immediately responded, well aware of how fake the excuse sounded, even to his own ears.

“Right”, Courfeyrac smiled wickedly at the road ahead of him. “I’ll pretend I believe this was the only thing you wanted to make sure of”.

“I have no idea what you mean”, Enjolras replied, willfully ignorant.

“Did you at least get his number?”, Courfeyrac raised a suspicious eyebrow. Enjolras felt heat rising to his face and turned his face away from Courfeyrac, looking out of the window as buildings and people became nothing other than a blur from the speed of their car.

“Can we please just focus on what we need to do here?”, Enjolras said, a little bit too defensively. Courfeyrac raised both his eyebrows and spared him a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road. Enjolras fished his phone out of his pocket to check his emails and a possible response from Lamarque, but there were none. He fidgeted with the device, not doing anything particular but running his thumb across the screen idly and without purpose only so that Courfeyrac wouldn’t try to bother him further, thinking he was busy. Enjolras knew that Courfeyrac was very aware that _something_ had gone down on the Corinthe, but there was no way his partner could be sure unless Enjolras actually told him the words, which was probably not happening any time soon. He didn’t even know how far things would get with Grantaire, and there was no point in allowing Courfeyrac to tease him over something that still hadn’t happened.

They arrived at the ABC HQ fifteen minutes later, thanks to the late hour and consequent lack of traffic in the streets. Following protocol, the pair went straight to debriefing, finding Lamarque standing in his office with Le Cabuc and another agent that was too new in the ABC for Enjolras to remember his name. Noticing the arrival of Enjolras and Courfeyrac, Lamarque dismissed the two other agents with a nod and remained on his feet, looking over some papers that were scattered across his working desk. Le Cabuc closed the door behind them after greeting them with a nod, and Enjolras and Courfeyrac politely waited in front of the desk, in silence, waiting for Lamarque to address them.

“So, it wasn’t our informant”, Lamarque said after what felt like an eternity of tense silence, finally organizing all the papers into one pile and setting them at a corner of the table. His tone was casual and uncompromising, more as if he was conformed than annoyed that their operation was stagnant.

“It wasn’t”, Enjolras nodded briefly, even though Lamarque wasn’t looking at him, but at the desk in front of him. He sat down, lost in deep thought, but Enjolras and Courfeyrac remained on their feet. “I met a man there that matched his description, but it wasn’t him. It was just a coincidence”, Enjolras added to break the tense silence in the room.

Lamarque finally raised his head to look at Enjolras, expression unreadable.

“You’re sure of that?”, he asked. Enjolras nodded again.

“Yes. I made sure of it. He didn’t know the code; he just happened to be a Scarface fan. He had no idea what I was doing there and assumed I was looking for a hookup”, Enjolras explained, ignoring the way Courfeyrac seemed to choke on thin air beside him. At least his partner had the decency to mask it with a cough, but the action didn’t go unnoticed by Lamarque, who eyed the pair curiously for a few seconds. Enjolras decided it would be best to continue. “He wasn’t our man”.

“How can you be so sure that he wasn’t faking it?”, Lamarque stood up from his chair, walking over towards them. His tone was not assertive or inquiring, but merely professional. Enjolras sighed, averting his face away from Courfeyrac as best as he could. He bit his lip for a few seconds, trying to decide which would be the best way to phrase his thoughts, and he didn’t meet Lamarque’s eyes as he responded.

“He flirted with me”, Enjolras said quickly, as if ripping a Band-Aid fast so that it would hurt less. “And he gave me his phone number”.

“So he _did_ give you his number! I fucking knew it!”, Courfeyrac blurted out, sounding too excited. Enjolras didn’t bother looking at him or acknowledging his general existence.

“The informant that contacted you was very thorough about securing his personal information; it wouldn’t be wise to give away his name and phone an hour in a conversation, let alone all the other personal details he shared with me”, Enjolras continued, trying his best to sound professional; trying his best to sound as detached as he could from Grantaire.

“Did you check to see if the number he gave you was actually _his_ , and not a hoax?”, Lamarque asked as nonchalantly as ever. Enjolras’ stomach twisted and he mentally reproached himself for his own stupidity. No, he hadn’t done that. And that was the first thing he should have thought about in the first place. He had been too sloppy.

“Enj was probably too busy trying to _get_ _busy_ ”, Courfeyrac teased with that wicked smile of his. Enjolras merely directed a glare towards him before fishing his phone out of his pocket, ready to text Grantaire. Lamarque sighed with Enjolras recognized as disappointment, and turned to sit back at his chair, head leaning on his hand heavily. Lamarque’s evident disapproval of him made Enjolras’ stomach twist with self-reproach.

“This is the type of overlooking that we can’t afford at this point of the operation”, Lamarque said tiredly, and Enjolras lowered his head in embarrassment. “Since you are my best agent and you don’t usually commit this type of beginner-like mistake, I will let this one slide, Enjolras. But I do hope you pay more attention to your actual _job_ , next time. We’re too close to catching Montparnasse to have you ruin my operation over a hot guy in a bar”.

Enjolras felt his face flush at the honesty with which Lamarque spoke, and could actually feel guilt radiating from Courfeyrac beside him, since his teasing had clearly aggravated the scolding Enjolras was receiving. Lamarque had once said that Enjolras was like a son to him, which always made it harder to hear reproach coming from the man. Not only harder, but also rarer – it was very unusual for Enjolras to make mistakes or be unprofessional. If anything, Enjolras was probably the only ABC agent, other than Lamarque, that followed the rules with extreme strictness. He was always in the office on time, he always succeeded in his missions, he always followed protocol. He even abstained from having romantic engagements, even though that wasn’t exactly forbidden, since it could possibly end up compromising his work.

As if on cue, Enjolras’ phone pinged with a new text as soon as he unlocked the screen to text Grantaire and see if the phone number was a hoax. All the eyes in the room turned to watch him as he silently opened the messaging app and found himself facing a new text from an unknown number.

**not meaning to sound too clingy just wanted to make sure you didnt get mugged or died on ur way home ;-)**

Enjolras cleared his throat uncomfortably, handing the phone over to Lamarque, who read the text with a subtly raised eyebrow. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with having his boss reading his personal texts, but he didn’t have anything to hide and he was desperate to fall into Lamarque’s good graces once again. Plus, it was mandatory that every agent’s phone was susceptible to checking, should it be needed. Courfeyrac was clearly dying to lean over Lamarque’s desk and read the text on Enjolras’ phone as well, but he kept himself from doing so, since Lamarque would probably reprimand him in case he did. Enjolras purposefully turned the screen away from his Courfeyrac’s view and locked the phone as soon as Lamarque handed it back to him, keeping Courf from seeing the text. Even though Enjolras’ face was blank and professionally stoic, his small, petty vindication against his partner made him mentally smile.

“I’ll want eyes on this man until I find what happened to the informant. There is still a chance that he is our guy, until proven otherwise”, Lamarque said after a few moments of thought, fishing his phone out of his pocket and quickly typing down a text before putting it away again. “I just put someone into it. For now, you’re dismissed”, he said, and both agents nodded and turned to leave. However, Lamarque continued: “Not you, Enjolras. I’d like to have a word with you, privately”.

Courfeyrac gave Enjolras the most apologetic look he had ever seen, and spared Lamarque one quick glance before opening the door and stepping out of the room, leaving Enjolras and Lamarque alone. Enjolras remained exactly where he stood, feeling slightly anxious even though his face betrayed none of his emotions. Lamarque sighed, fiddling with a pen for some time, before finally addressing him.

“You’re working yourself too hard. I think you could use a break”, he said with something akin to concern in his voice. Enjolras’ stoic expression immediately dropped to be replaced by one of shock, and he stepped forwards on impulse, not caring that Lamarque was his superior officer. With them, such formalities were never something other than a façade for the sake of following protocols.

“Maximilien, I don’t really think –“, Enjolras started, but was interrupted by Lamarque straightening himself on his chair and giving him a silencing look.

“Enjolras, listen to me. You and Courfeyrac are the best agents I have right now. You were the Academy’s brightest and there is a reason why you two managed to graduate in one year, when most people take four. You two work too _hard_ ”, he explained patiently, but in a tone that didn’t allow discussion. “But you’re not Courfeyrac. He dedicates himself to his work, that’s true, but he also has a _life_ outside here, which is something you don’t. Other than that… _blog_ you run on social justice, what else do you do to distract yourself from work?”

Enjolras bowed his head, silent. His mind was rushing and he couldn’t think of an appropriate reply to Lamarque’s answer, but the fact that he didn’t have one was what upset him the most. He felt like a teenager all over again, having an argument he couldn’t win against his father, no matter how right he was.

“That’s what I thought”, Lamarque said decisively. “You’re always the first to arrive and the last to leave. You’re overworking yourself, and overworking affects performance. You’re taking a one-week break”. He pulled the piled papers on his desk closer to himself and started to sign them, already dismissive of Enjolras, despite of the agent’s clear disapproval of Lamarque’s decision. Enjolras’ lips formed a thin line, and his heart was beating fast with anger and resentment. Seeming to notice this, despite of the fact that he wasn’t even looking at Enjolras, Lamarque added, just to prove his point: “Would you have acted so sloppy today had you been on your best performance?”. That question was enough to finally loosen Enjolras’ tongue.

“If I may speak freely”, Enjolras said through gritted teeth. “ _Sir_ ”, he added, just out of spite. Lamarque put his pen down and leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes briefly in clear annoyance.

“Don’t act like a child. You know damn well I’m always open to hearing what you have to say”, Lamarque responded with scold.

“I was not _sloppy_ ”, Enjolras continued, untouched by Lamarque’s dismissive tone. “I stayed at the Corinthe for an hour to make sure that the man was not the actual informant. I only left once I was absolutely sure”.

“And you were absolutely sure only because he gave you his number and thought you were pretty?”, Lamarque raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I was absolutely _sure_ because he did not behave as an informant, he was not nervous, he was drunk, and loud, and he knew the staff of the Corinthe; he was extroverted, easy-going and immediately told me his name as soon as he approached me”, Enjolras responded angrily, staring at Lamarque’s desk rather than at the man himself.

“A name which could have been fake”, Lamarque refuted, but before Enjolras could protest, he continued. “I’m not saying you were _wrong_ , Enjolras. I’m not saying that this man _was_ our informant, and that he made a fool of you. I am not _punishing_ you. Meeting the wrong person or not finding the right clue is _occupational hazard_. This _break_ I am telling you to take is not me _punishing_ you for meeting the wrong person”, he explained as if it was obvious.

“You said I was sloppy”, Enjolras met Lamarque’s eyes, aware that his tone sounded accusing and resentful. That was a perfect mirror of how Enjolras felt on that moment.

“You gave him your number as well”, Lamarque noted, and Enjolras’ blood immediately dropped from his face. Of course. How else would Grantaire had been able to text him, unless Enjolras had given him his number? Lamarque was too smart, a too good of an agent to let a crucial detail like that pass unnoticed. “Would you not call that irresponsible, at least? Giving your personal number to a man who could be the informant on the Patron-Minette?”

“Lamarque –“, Enjolras started, not even sure of what excuse he could give.

“I am not _reproaching_ you, Enjolras”, Lamarque chuckled, saying the words very loudly and clearly as if spelling something out for a child. Enjolras felt confused. “You are allowed to have a personal life, personal interests, personal _relationships._ As long as you don’t compromise the ABC, you’re free to do whatever you please with your life. Which is exactly why I am giving you this break”.

“I… don’t understand”, Enjolras admitted, frowning.

“You work yourself too hard”, Lamarque repeated his words from the start of the conversation. “How long has it been since you last went out on a date? No, don’t answer that”, he immediately raised a hand when Enjolras opened his mouth to respond. “Your dedication to our agency is admirable and unprecedented. But it will also lead to your ruin if you don’t get a grip of yourself. I am tired of walking in here and seeing you overdosing on caffeine at 6 in the morning, just as much as I am tired of walking out and seeing you’re still working or training or whatever it is you do here up to 2 a.m. You need a break. Read a book, write new blog posts, go to the movies and eat your favorite ice cream; do _something_ , for God’s sake. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before you’re forty, if you keep up like this”.

“I’m just doing what I do best”, Enjolras protested, even though it sounded weak to his own ears. “It’s my duty”.

“And your country thanks you for it”, Lamarque nodded. “But you won’t be able to perform your duty if you’re dead or in a hospital. So I am ordering you to take a one week break. France won’t fall apart if you relax for seven days”.

“ _Ordering_ me?”, Enjolras raised one eyebrow, almost indignant. His relationship with Lamarque wasn’t like with the other agents – Lamarque had never treated Enjolras as a subordinate, but rather as his equal. And Enjolras had never seen Lamarque as a superior officer, but as a mentor. They had always been nothing but respectful with each other so far. Enjolras could almost see Lamarque as a father figure, if he hadn’t been aware of how ridiculous saying that out loud would sound.

“You won’t do it otherwise”, Lamarque stared up at him, almost challenging Enjolras to try and defy him. If Enjolras hadn’t been so angry, he would have realized that Lamarque looked almost apologetic. “And you need it. You know you do”.

Enjolras tightened his fists, feeling angrier than ever. He couldn’t help but to feel that he _was_ being punished. He didn’t want to leave work for a week! Even though his blog was lacking several updates and his sleeping schedule was a complete disaster, he would feel useless just sitting at home without doing anything. He needed to work; how could Lamarque not understand that? Just because he had indulged into Grantaire’s charms and ended up giving his number to him, it didn’t mean Enjolras _needed_ to have a distraction, as Lamarque was suggesting. Maybe, deep down, he wanted it, but he didn’t want to jeopardize his job because of it.

But there was no way of rounding this situation. Even though he had an intimate relation with Lamarque, he _was_ his superior officer, despite of how they saw each other, and he had just given Enjolras a direct order. And as much as Enjolras disliked that order, he knew he would be forced to obey it, if not by Lamarque’s resolve, then by his own. Fine. Lamarque wanted him to take a break? He would take a break. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still help Courfeyrac from home. He tilted his chin up, defiantly.

“Would that be all, _sir_?”, Enjolras asked, making sure to let all his resentment show through the last word. He never called Lamarque sir, not even in front of other agents. Lamarque sighed, sounding disappointed and exhausted.

“Yes, that would be all. You’re dismissed for the week”, he said, waving a hand at Enjolras and not looking at him.

“Do I have to give you my gun and badge?”, Enjolras asked bitterly, just for the sake of showing Lamarque how upset he was.

“That won’t be necessary”, Lamarque explained, going back to signing his papers and not looking at Enjolras. “You’re not being suspended; you’re just taking a payed leave. I trust you enough to know that you won’t do anything stupid while you’re away”, he added, and the fact that he was still acting normally, as if he hadn’t just hurt Enjolras’ feelings, pissed him off to the extent that he simply turned to leave, crossing the office with firm, angry steps. However, just as his hand reached for the doorknob, Lamarque called his name. Enjolras didn’t turn to look at him, but he stopped in his tracks. “Enjolras. Just remember that I am not punishing you for anything. If not today, I would have given you this break tomorrow, or the day after that. It was inevitable. I’m not your father, but I still care about your well-being”.

Enjolras didn’t respond. Swallowing dry, and too proud to say anything that didn’t count as opposition, he opened the door and left the office, not bothering to slam it behind him as protest. There was no reason to protest. Enjolras would just do his work from home, whether Lamarque liked it or not. Plus, the silent click of the door closing was colder and more detached than just angrily slamming it, anyway.

As he walked out of the HQ without bothering to explain what had happened to Courfeyrac, who didn’t see him leave, Enjolras completely forgot to reply to the text that Grantaire had sent him.

 

 

“Sorry, Enj, but that’s a no-no”, Courfeyrac shrugged, casually leaning back against Enjolras’ kitchen counter and tapping something on his phone. Enjolras stared at him blankly.

“What do you mean, ‘a no-no’?”, Enjolras asked, frowning and squinting his eyes in disbelief, after a few seconds of absorbing Courfeyrac’s denial. “You’re my _partner_ ”.

“Yeah, but I’m not about to go and directly disobey Lamarque when he ordered you to take a week off”, Courfeyrac frowned back. “Not just because he’s my boss. I really think you could use this free time”, he said honestly, and then went back to staring at his phone.

“Oh, you’re kidding me”, Enjolras rolled his eyes and threw his arms in a frustrated way, huffing out a breath. “I’m not asking you to _commit treason_ ; only to let me help you out with whatever mission you’re going into this week”, he explained in a condescending tone that was slightly bitter. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and put his phone away before turning to Enjolras as if he was a child throwing a tantrum in a shopping mall.

“Look, Enj, you know I love you, but you gotta learn how to take no for an answer”, he grinned apologetically, walking past Enjolras towards his living room. There, he threw himself on the sofa, immediately lying down on it as if he was at his own house (which, in some sort of way, he was. Courfeyrac seemed to hang out in Enjolras’ apartment more often than in his own). “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to let you work on this with me. Le Cabuc was reassigned as my partner while you take your break”.

“ _Le Cabuc_?!”, Enjolras exclaimed, indignant. His anger was not due a possible lack of competence from Le Cabuc, but to the fact that Lamarque had been so quick at reassigning a partner to Courfeyrac. “I can see you were pretty quick to replace me”, he fake-pouted and crossed his arms above his chest, hoping that it would bring up some sense of guilt in Courfeyrac.

“No, no, no, don’t even try that”, Courfeyrac shook his head, pointing a finger at Enjolras before retrieving his phone from his pocket once again. “I’m not falling for your emotional manipulation. You’re going to stay home and rest your little head”.

Enjolras huffed out an annoyed breath, angry that Courfeyrac always saw right through him. Indeed like a child throwing a tantrum, he sat down on the floor, since Courfeyrac had taken up his whole couch without leaving any space for him. His partner petted his head affectionately, never tearing his eyes away from the screen of his phone, which he held with just one hand.

“There, there. I know how much of a workaholic you are, Enj, but think of this as an opportunity to reload your batteries and put yourself back together. You’ve been stressing out too much over Montparnasse’s arrest, and you could use a break to increase your work efficiency, or whatever other reasons Lamarque told you about. I agree with him. You’re too stressed out”.

“I’m not stressed out, I don’t _get_ stressed; I’m just doing my job”, Enjolras complained, pretending that he wasn’t enjoying Courfeyrac’s fingers running through his curly hair in the precise way Courf knew he loved. “Why do people want to keep me from doing my job?”

“There are plenty of other very competent agents who can work the case while you’re away”, Courfeyrac explained. “Today Le Cabuc and I are going to look into what happened to your informant from yesterday. He could have just given the meeting up, _or_ there could be something else into it. I’ll let you know what we find out, but please, please stay at home and take a nap or something. Go watch that cooking show you used to love; I’m pretty sure you must be way behind on it”, he teased.

“This is ridiculous, and a waste of time”, Enjolras sighed. “I could be much more useful back in the HQ. _And_ the operation would develop faster”.

“First of all, that’s incredibly narcissistic of you, and second of all, I’ve already told you that if you pass out from dehydration again I’m not going to be the one taking you to medical. God knows those poor lab rats are tired of seeing your sorry ass showing up in there”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes affectionately.

“And I’ve already told you that’s not what ‘lab rat’ means”, Enjolras clicked his tongue. “Also it’s not nice to call them that. They’re always very kind to me whenever I end up in there”.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would say that you’re working yourself too hard on purpose just so that you show up at medical because one of the lab rats is your crush”, Courfeyrac chuckled. “Thank god it’s not the case, because it would be ridiculous. And also because you already _have_ a crush”.

“Oh, shut up, Courf”, Enjolras rolled his eyes, leaning his chin on his knees as Courfeyrac continued to caress his hair.

“Really! Oh, god, I’m still waiting for you to tell me _all_ about this guy. We could barely even _talk_ yesterday, since you stormed out like a little child, so I’m still waiting on the deets”, he smirked, finally putting his phone away and lying on his side, so that he could see Enjolras’ face better.

“Ok, first of all, don’t ever say ‘deets’ in my presence again”, Enjolras sighed. “Second, there’s nothing to tell. He was just a guy who happened to look like the person I was looking for. There’s nothing to it”.

“Is that why he texted you immediately after you gave him your number? And why you gave him your number in the first place, right?”, Courfeyrac asked, disbelief clear in his voice. Enjolras sighed, aware that there was no easy way out of this topic.

“Fine, I may have felt a little bit attracted to him, but that doesn’t mean _anything_ ”, Enjolras lied, thankful that he had his back turned to the couch and thus, Courfeyrac couldn’t quite see his face properly. “It’s temporary”.

“Right”, Courfeyrac clicked his tongue. “Why do you keep denying yourself good things in life? Don’t you see that this is a sign from the universe to you?”

“The universe isn’t sending me any signs”, Enjolras refuted.

“Yeah, because accidentally meeting an attractive guy who’s interesting enough to catch _Enjolras_ ’ attention and who matches all the descriptions of the man you were actually _supposed_ to meet _definitely_ isn’t a sign of the universe”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “It’s too much of a coincidence to be _just_ a coincidence, you feel me? There’s something into it”, he explained.

“There’s _nothing_ into it”, Enjolras squinted. “And what do you mean, ‘ _Enjolras_ ’ attention’? It’s not like if it’s a special ability; many people catch my attention”.

“Yeah. When they’re criminals or suspects or weird people in general”, Courfeyrac said as if it was obvious.

“That is not true”, Enjolras protested, but he didn’t sound too sure of himself.

“Those two people you found cute at uni and at the academy don’t count, Enjolras”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about actually _liking_ someone, not just finding them pretty. And I know you didn’t just find this guy pretty; there’s something about him that made you give him your number, which is something unprecedented in the history of Enjolras”, he teased. “Just tell me what it was. I’m your friend, you’ve known me for years and you know you can trust me. It’s not like I’m going to go around the HQ yelling about how much you want to get into this guy’s pants”.

“That’s _definitely_ something you would do”, Enjolras muttered.

“Ha! You didn’t deny you want to get into his pants!”, Courfeyrac pointed an accusatory finger, a huge smile on his face.

“Fine”, Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Maybe I do. _Not get into his pants_ , Courfeyrac, god, grow up”, he clarified when Courfeyrac let out a loud, squealing noise. “Maybe _I do like_ him. There’s something about him that I just… don’t understand. It made me feel weird all over, it made me want to know to get him better. He was just so clever, and observant, and talented. I think he could make a great agent”.

“Ok, rule number one of your first date, _do not_ try to recruit this man into the ABC”, Courfeyrac instructed very seriously. “That’s totally un-romantic and it will kill the mood, especially because you’re not allowed to let him know that you’re a secret agent”.

“You think I don’t know that?”, Enjolras asked, almost offended. “I was just saying”.

“I just wanted to make sure we were clear on that because blabbering about how much you love work is something you would definitely do on a date”, Courfeyrac explained.

“I don’t even know if there is going to be a date yet”, Enjolras shrugged. “I never replied to his text from yesterday”.

“You never _what_?”, Courfeyrac’s voice raised an octave. “Why not?”

“I didn’t know what to say”, Enjolras shrugged. It was the true – as soon as he had remembered to answer to Grantaire’s text (which happened hours after he got home), he reassured the man that he wasn’t dead, but once Grantaire had responded with “cool wyd ;-)” Enjolras lost track of what he was supposed to say. He wasn’t particularly good at small talk, one of his many social weaknesses, and at the same time he hadn’t wanted conversation with Grantaire to become something boring or feel like an obligation.

“What did he say on the text?”, Courfeyrac asked, interested and bearing a tone that indicated he was going to work as a mediator, even though Enjolras hadn’t asked him to.

“He asked what I was doing”, Enjolras explained, aware of how plain that sounded. Courfeyrac grimaced.

“Yikes. What is this guy’s game?”, he asked. Suddenly, Enjolras felt slightly attacked.

“He’s not plain”, Enjolras explained, defensive, even though Courfeyrac hadn’t said that. “He’s very interesting and smart; he’s probably just hesitant about what to say to me”.

“I didn’t say he was plain”, Courfeyrac tilted his head to the side, curious. There was a wicked grin on his face.

“Right”, Enjolras huffed, pulling his knees to his chest.

“You should ask him out”, Courfeyrac suggested after a few seconds of silence. “Since you liked him so much. You’ll have the whole week off, why not try to make the most out of it?”

“You know how I am, Courf”, Enjolras protested in a tone that showed a sort of insecurity that was extremely rare in his discourse. “I don’t know how to deal with this. I’ve never been on a date before. I’ve never been in a _relationship_ before. I wouldn’t know what to do”.

Courfeyrac made a tiny sympathetic sound and got up from the couch, crouching down and sitting beside Enjolras on the floor. Enjolras didn’t look at him. He was usually strong, confident and self-assured, but that was in front of other people. Courfeyrac was his closest, most intimate friend. Courfeyrac had known him ever since he was basically a child, just a young man struggling his way into university after his father disinherited him. Courfeyrac had been there for him whenever Enjolras had needed him; he had offered Enjolras his home, when Enjolras had found himself homeless, he had offered him hope, when Enjolras had found himself hopeless, and he had offered him friendship, when Enjolras had found himself friendless. Courfeyrac was the only person in the world who Enjolras allowed to see him in that vulnerable, fragile state, and he was the only one with whom Enjolras shared his fears and insecurities. Talking to anyone else about how he had never been on a date, even Lamarque, felt weird and too personal. Talking about that with Courfeyrac felt as easy as discussing the weather, because even though Courfeyrac _loved_ to tease him and, sometimes, ended up telling too much about Enjolras’ life to other people, Enjolras knew he could trust him. Courfeyrac was his best friend.

“It’s ok, Enj”, Courfeyrac reassured, passing an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders and pulling him closer in a sort of sideways hug. “There isn’t a formula. To be honest, I think you should be as much of yourself as possible, because if this guy really wants to be with you, then he has to love who you are, and not who you pretend to be. Even if you’re a little awkward or weird”, he tightened the hug at this.

“But… I just don’t know what to do”, Enjolras shrugged. “If I ask him out, where do I take him? What do I do? What’s the protocol for this sort of thing?”

“There isn’t one”, Courfeyrac smiled apologetically. “You’ll just have to go with the flow, do something that you enjoy and that you think he’ll enjoy too. If he’s right for you, then it will be ok, no matter what you two decide to do. But there is one thing, though”, his tone became more serious and almost ominous.

“What?”, Enjolras frowned.

“I think you should wait until we find out about the informant”, Courfeyrac said, pensively. “There’s always a chance that… You know”, he trailed off, shrugging.

“He isn’t”, Enjolras sighed. “I know that he isn’t. I may have doubted it at first, but I’m sure that he’s not the informant”.

“Sometimes we convince ourselves of things just because it’s easier than facing reality”, Courfeyrac said, sounding strangely more mature than he usually did. Enjolras sighed again, knowing that his friend had a plausible point, even though he was sure that there was _no way_ Grantaire could be the informant. However, if he argued, it would only make him sound more passionate than rational.

“Fine. I’ll wait until you have the info”, Enjolras reluctantly agreed. Courfeyrac’s smile beamed.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t think you should text him, though”, he added, bumping at Enjolras’ shoulder with his own affectionately. “Just keep the sexting for later, when we are sure that he’s not a drug dealer”.

“I won’t _sext_ him”, Enjolras frowned. “How would I ever be able to face Lamarque again when knowing that he read my sexts?”

Courfeyrac stiffened, and Enjolras finally turned his head to face his friend, who had a very frightened look on his face.

“What is it?”, Enjolras asked, concerned.

“Lamarque reads our texts?”, Courfeyrac asked, voice a little bit too trembly.

“Well, not _Lamarque_ ”, Enjolras explained pensively. “But someone does, to make sure no one gives off important information to enemies of the ABC, and if they find something suspicious they show it to Lamarque”. Noticing the increasingly desperation in Courfeyrac’s expression, Enjolras’ eyes widened. “Oh _my god_ , don’t tell me you didn’t know that. It’s on the bloody contract, Courfeyrac, didn’t you read it?”, he chuckled in surprise.

“Shit”, Courfeyrac exclaimed. “Shit, shit, shit, shit”.

“Did you just sign the thing without reading it? Oh my god”, Enjolras face-palmed, disbelieving, but never stopping to laugh. “How are you even a real agent?”

“I probably have a lot of explaining to do back at the HQ”, Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “A _lot_ , lot”.

“Who did you sext, Courfeyrac?”, Enjolras asked, chuckling, though his face was scrunched in concern, sympathy for his friend and humor. Courfeyrac always knew how to lighten his mood.

“Who _didn’t_ I sext: that’s the question you should be asking”, Courfeyrac explained with a nervous laughter that was half-natural and half-forced. Enjolras shook his head disapprovingly, but there was a smile on his lips. Courfeyrac’s phone pinged with a text, and the man immediately retrieved it from his pocket. “Oh shit”, Courfeyrac said after reading his message. “It’s Le Cabuc. I gotta go now, to look into the informant thing. You’ll be ok without me for a few hours, won’t you?”, he asked, but Enjolras couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

“We don’t live together, Courfeyrac”, Enjolras raised a humorous eyebrow.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that”, Courfeyrac responded, quickly typing a response to the text he received as he got up from the floor. “Don’t forget to keep yourself hydrated, don’t go to sleep too late, don’t sext anyone because the government reads everybody’s texts, but _do_ text that Corinthe guy”, he instructed nonchalantly, while collecting his things that were scattered across Enjolras’ apartment so that he could take his leave. “What’s his name, by the way? You never told me”.

“Grantaire”, Enjolras breathed out the name, noticing how natural it felt on his own tongue. “His name is Grantaire”.

Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks, his brief bag hanging loosely from his hand. He stared at Enjolras for long seconds with sheer disbelief in his eyes.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, he shook his head, looking almost angry. “Seriously? _Grand R_? And the guy you were supposed to meet was known only as R?”

“I know”, Enjolras sighed.

“Either this guy _is_ the fucking informant or the universe _really_ wants you two to be together”, Courfeyrac shook his head, going back to collecting his things. He was putting on his shoes when his phone pinged with another text. “Don’t ignore the universe, Enjolras! Text Grantaire and then let me know how it went. I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as I can”, he jogged to where Enjolras was still sitting on the floor, bending over and placing a quick kiss against Enjolras’ forehead. “Look after yourself”.

“I will”, Enjolras said, a feeling of affection and love overwhelming him. He was really lucky to have Courfeyrac in his life.

“I mean it!”, his friend said, jogging back towards the door.

“I’m still upset that you won’t let me help with the investigation, but I will”, Enjolras shouted after him.

“Don’t be a baby and keep yourself hydrated! Don’t forget to drink plenty of water!”, Courfeyrac shouted over his shoulder, already at the hall. He left the door open behind him, and Enjolras had to get up to close it. Once he did, he leaned back against the door, staring at nothing in particular and thinking about how he should approach texting Grantaire.

He really didn’t know how dates were supposed to work apart from what he had seen in movies, but since he had no trust whatsoever on Hollywood’s accuracy when portraying real life, he wasn’t sure he could base his date with Grantaire on that sort of knowledge. Courfeyrac had told him to just be himself and do something that he would enjoy, but Enjolras didn’t suppose inviting Grantaire to write angry blog posts about social justice with him would be too appealing, especially because Grantaire had been so quick to refute his arguments on sexism on the previous night. That had made him angry, but part of him wanted to argue more with Grantaire, if not to change the man’s mind, than to improve his own arguments. Grantaire seemed to be very good at that, and maybe he could help Enjolras to become even more irrefutable.

After spending a long time considering his options, Enjolras came to the conclusion that the perfect place to take Grantaire would be the Musain. The Musain was a small vintage café a few blocks away from his house, closer to town than the Corinthe. They served delicious food there, the place was pleasant, the staff was sympathetic and the price was accessible. Enjolras had wanted to take Grantaire somewhere fancy just to spite him on the night before, but the Musain was the _opposite_ of fancy. And yet, the idea of being at that small café with Grantaire was more exciting than being at an expensive restaurant. It felt more natural.

But he had promised Courfeyrac he wouldn’t go out with Grantaire until they were completely sure that he wasn’t the informant, and Enjolras was a man of his word. Still, he felt that if he took too long to reply to Grantaire’s text, the man would get the wrong idea and assume Enjolras didn’t want to speak with him. Following Courfeyrac’s last advice, Enjolras texted Grantaire back.

**Just found out I’ll have to take a week-long break from work. What about you?**

Grantaire’s reply came in only a few minutes, which was the time it took for Enjolras to make himself some tea so that he could start working on his blog.

**painting some stuff. why arent u celebrating tho?? id kill for a break from work**

Enjolras sighed. Of _course_ Grantaire wouldn’t understand Enjolras’ crankiness from staying away from work – not even Lamarque himself seemed to understand. He quickly typed down his reply.

**I actually like working, and I feel like I’ll be missing out on something important if I stay away too long. What are you painting?**

Grantaire’s response came in a few seconds this time, and Enjolras didn’t even have the time to properly turn his laptop on before his phone pinged with a new text.

**what a busy bee. but dont u get to choose when u get time off? what sort of police station do u work for??**

Enjolras sighed, rolling his eyes. He could perfectly picture the teasing smile on Grantaire’s lips as he typed down the words.

**For the millionth time, I don’t work for the police. And my boss thinks I’ve been overworking myself, and thus forced me to take this time off “for my own good”. It’s a huge bummer.**

Enjolras turned his laptop on and was opening his blog page when he received another text.

**pls dont ever use ‘thus’ again on a text what are u a 90 years old grandpa??**

Before Enjolras could reply, another text came in.

**but u seem to be the kind of guy that rly works too hard. maybe a break could be good for u**

Something about the reply made Enjolras feel uneasy, and he realized that it was the fact that Grantaire had been able to see something about him that his closest, personal friends always complained about, and all in one hour. Yet, here was he, not able to be entirely sure whether Grantaire was a common criminal or not, awaiting for Courfeyrac’s confirmation. The fact that Grantaire seemed to read him like a book whereas Enjolras could only make out some few details about him made him feel frustrated and left out. He typed his response.

**Everyone says so, but still, it’s a bit unsettling to have all this time for myself.**

Grantaire’s response came in a while after.

**well at least u will have more time to see me then ;-)**

Enjolras worried at his lower lip, not knowing what to say in response. He had been hoping Grantaire would wait until Enjolras asked him out, but from the demonstration he had received on the previous night, it seemed more than obvious that the man had no problem with rush into the subject. However, Enjolras had promised Courfeyrac that he wouldn’t go out with Grantaire just yet. Thankfully, Grantaire sent him another message before he figured out what to reply, probably realizing that Enjolras had felt uncomfortable with the sudden subject.

**anyways im trying to get the last painting for my expo done. i left it all for the last minute and now i gotta rush with it lmao**

Enjolras couldn’t tell whether he was being dismissed or not, so carefully wrote his response.

**Oh, I won’t bother you, then. I have to finish writing some things myself.**

The answer took a while longer to come than Enjolras had expected, almost as if Grantaire had hesitated.

**right. talk to you later then?**

**Sure. Talk to you later.**

Enjolras locked his phone screen and finally concentrated on writing the post for his blog. His attention only averted to his phone a couple of times throughout the writing process, and by the time he was done, he had managed to compose five different posts to his blog in the span of four hours. Feeling productive, even though he wasn’t actually working, he carefully reviewed his writing after taking a few minutes to pour himself another cup of tea and go to the bathroom, and then posted his first text on the blog. He added the others to the queue, guaranteeing that the blog would be updated for at least three more weeks.

And then… nothing.

He tried to read some of the books that he had half-started, but none of them caught his attention for more than half an hour. He tried to watch the news on the TV but all the channels only talked about frivolous affairs that didn’t interest him or outdated news that he had already gone over a week before. He checked his emails three times, and even tried to sit down and write more blog posts, but found that he couldn’t. The reason for his anticipation was clear – Courfeyrac hadn’t given him any news in the past hours.

Enjolras was very good at his job. He knew that investigations like this usually took time, and this one probably wouldn’t be solved in one single day. If their informant had decided to disappear, it would be a lot of work to find him, especially if he had rejoined the Patron-Minette. Enjolras doubted that was the case – it was very unlikely that Jondrette would accept a nearly-traitor into their midst. This left the informant with little to no options of places he could escape to, meaning that it would be a really dumb plan for him to follow. The only other plausible option was that disappearing hadn’t been exactly _optional_ for the informant.

(It could also mean that Grantaire was, indeed, the informant – a _completely crazy_ informant, but one all the same – and that he had been playing Enjolras all along. Enjolras tried not to consider this option, but he failed miserably. He wasn’t quite sure why the idea of Grantaire not being who he said he was bothered him so much, and convinced himself that he only felt so anxious about it because he didn’t like it when people made a fool of him. It wasn’t because he had taken a certain _fondness_ for Grantaire or anything. Definitely not that).

Enjolras felt tempted to text Courfeyrac and had to suppress the urge several times. Courfeyrac could be next to Lamarque and Enjolras didn’t want his boss knowing that he was interested in the investigation. He also didn’t want Lamarque to read his texts afterwards and decide that Enjolras needed even more time off. All he wanted to do was to be helpful, be active in some way. Sitting at home like that was _killing_ him, and this was only day one. Enjolras wouldn’t survive six more days of this, he just wouldn’t. He wasn’t used to idleness. Not being on the run was driving him insane.

He settled for reading the news on his laptop for the remaining hours of the day, trying to decide whether any of them had enough value to be mentioned in his blog or not. His TV was turned on but the volume was down so that Enjolras could concentrate on his reading; the sound of whatever program that was on was serving only as white noise. Eventually, his reading became so mechanical and disinterested that Enjolras felt himself dozing off on his couch, to his own horror. He vaguely wondered if he would be like this when he aged, bored and disinterested and dozing off wherever he sat. The thought terrified him.

He almost missed the faint buzzing of his phone, and it took his sleepy brain a few seconds to realize that the device was ringing. With a jolt, Enjolras reached for it, and his heart skipped a beat in both anxiety and relief when he saw Courfeyrac’s name on the screen. He also realized that it was almost 9 p.m., and that he didn’t know for how long he had been napping on his living room like an old man.

“Courf”, Enjolras answered the call, trying his best to hide the eagerness in his voice. Courfeyrac didn’t seem to pay much attention to his expectations, because for once in his life, he went straight to the point, almost professionally.

“I have good and bad news”, he said simply. “Which do you want to hear first?”

“The bad news”, Enjolras immediately replied. “Always”.

“Your informant from yesterday is dead”, Courfeyrac said nonchalantly. Enjolras froze. He subconsciously pulled his phone away from his ear so that he could glance at the screen, so many emotions raging through his chest that he couldn’t feel any of them. There were no new texts from Grantaire. A sudden knot appeared in Enjolras’ throat. Was that why he hadn’t texted Enjolras? Because he was dead? “Enjolras? Are you there?”, Courfeyrac asked when Enjolras remained silent for too long.

“Yes”, Enjolras eventually chocked out, doing his best to sound as impassive as he could. His throat felt weirdly constricted, and he hated himself for being so upset over a man he had known less than 24 hours before. “And the good news?”, he urged.

“Oh, right. It isn’t Grantaire”, Courfeyrac added, and if Enjolras closed his eyes he would be able to perfectly picture Courfeyrac’s wicked, shit-eating grin. “I bet you were pretty worried, huh?”, he teased after hearing Enjolras’ obvious sigh of relief.

“You’re such an asshole”, Enjolras muttered, shoulders relaxing as he leaned back against the couch’s rest, finally noticing how tense his body had become in the past few seconds. He carefully removed the hot laptop from his lap and placed it on his coffee table.

“Hey, you’re the one who asked for the bad news first!”, Courfeyrac protested friendly.

“What happened to him?”, Enjolras asked, turning back into professional sternness.

“It’s a long story and I don’t exactly have time to talk about it right now since I’m on the crime scene and all; we’re just waiting for forensics to arrive. I just wanted to call you right away to let you know that you’re morally free to bone this Grantaire guy as much as you want, since he’s not a criminal or anything. At least not that I _know_ of”, he added.

“Did you report to Lamarque yet?”, Enjolras frowned.

“Mon petit ange, did you not hear what I just said?”, Courfeyrac said condescendingly. “I wanted to call you right away to let you know that you’re free to have wild, kinky sex with Grantaire. What are you waiting for? Just go get it”.

“You know that it is against the rules to report a mission to anyone other than your superior officer at first, right?”, Enjolras raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Ugh, I’ll call Lamarque if that’s what gets your motor running. Wait, that sounded wrong”, he huffed out a breath. “Anyway. I think the forensics guy just arrived here”.

“Wait, Courf”, Enjolras called before his friend could hung up. “Before you go. Where did you find the informant?”

Courfeyrac hesitated for a few moments, which was very unusual for him. This made Enjolras tense up again.

“His body is in a dumpster”, Courfeyrac explained slowly, almost as if he wanted to give Enjolras time to catch up with the information. “In the back alley of the Corinthe”.

Enjolras froze at this. This man had been killed right outside the Corinthe? When? Before Enjolras arrived? Or even worse, after? How had Enjolras not noticed that there was a body right outside the bar he was in? What kind of agent was he?

“Before you start blaming yourself, there was no way you could know”, Courfeyrac said, almost as if reading Enjolras’ mind through the phone. “There was no reason for you to check a dumpster in a dark alley, and his body was out of view, anyway. His throat was slit and I’m pretty sure that was the cause of death, but we won’t know for sure until forensics give their feedback. I’ll keep you updated. I really should go now, I’ve been on this manhunt for the whole day and I can’t wait to get home and take a hot shower”.

“You won’t accompany them back to the HQ?”, Enjolras frowned. Protocol dictated that Courfeyrac would have to go with the body and the forensics team back to the HQ, report to Lamarque and only then he would be free to go.

“Le Cabuc is doing that for me”, Courfeyrac explained. “What a _saint_ this man is. He offered to go back with forensics, so all I have to do is report to Lamarque and then my hot tub awaits me. Have I told you about the new glitter bath bomb I got? Man, I think I’ll be opening it tonight”.

“Right”, Enjolras huffed out a breath that was only half-indignant. “I forgot that Le Cabuc is your new partner”, he said, fake-upset. Courfeyrac giggled.

“Don’t be so jealous, Enjy-bear. Even though he’s well-humored, funny and”, Courfeyrac exaggeratedly cleared his throat, “doesn’t make me write reports and go through hundreds of files on a daily basis like _someone_ does, he could never ever replace you. You know you’re my special cupcake”.

“You sound like a grandma”, Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately.

“That is what I aspire to be”, Courfeyrac answered proudly. “I really got to go now. I’ll call you once I’m home and out of my relaxing bath, I want to know all about your first day of holiday”.

“Don’t call it a holiday. And there’s not much to tell anyway”, Enjolras sighed.

“Ugh, someone’s grumpy”, Courfeyrac teased. There was the sound of muffled dialog in the background, but Enjolras couldn’t make out the words. “I’m going now. Talk to you later, Enj”, he said cheerfully, and then the line went dead. Enjolras kept the warm phone close to his ear for a few more seconds before pulling it away. He glanced at the screen for a long time, trying to make sense of everything Courfeyrac had just told him and make a decision.

Grantaire wasn’t an informant. He wasn’t a criminal, nor was he related to the Patron-Minette in anyway. He was just a guy at the wrong place in the wrong time. Or was it the _right_ time? Enjolras couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell whether this thing he had created with Grantaire would be good or bad. He couldn’t tell whether it would work or not. He didn’t even _know_ Grantaire properly. But wasn’t that how relationships started? With people getting to know each other? Was that what he wanted? A relationship with Grantaire? A relationship at all?

Enjolras had so many questions to ask himself. He had never been in a relationship. He had never felt romantic love before, just attraction to a couple people. What he felt for Grantaire was more of a fondness than anything else. He had found Grantaire funny, and smart, and interesting; interesting enough that Enjolras gave him his number. He wanted to talk to Grantaire. To chat with him, to get to know him better. That was for certain. But having a relationship was something that Enjolras wasn’t sure he was ready for yet.

Maybe he should take things slowly. That sounded like a better plan. Taking things slowly would give him time to get to know Grantaire better, and to decide whether he actually wanted to have a relationship with Grantaire or not. Taking things slowly was the most rational, and only plausible option he had available on the moment. Giving Grantaire his number had been an impulsive move, and Enjolras didn’t want to rush into things again. He would tell Grantaire that he wanted to take things slowly and if the man wasn’t ok with that, then there was nothing Enjolras could do about it. He wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with a person who didn’t respect him, anyway.

He made a decision. He would text Grantaire, invite him to the Musain, and take things very, very slowly with him. If he decided that he liked Grantaire enough to have a relationship, then fine, he would indulge into one. If not… then he would continue his life. There was no way of knowing for sure if he wanted to be with Grantaire unless he tried things out first, right? And he would try them as carefully and slowly as he could.

 

 

They met at the Musain for lunch, and Enjolras was the first one to arrive (just as he had presumed). He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to wear to a date, and on the top of that he had developed a terrible habit of feeling extremely informal unless he was wearing a suit, thanks to the amount of time he dedicated to his work. Since he feared calling Courfeyrac for help (which would probably end up only in unwanted comments and disaster), and something deep inside him made him think that maybe wearing a suit to the Musain would end up being too formal, Enjolras settled for wearing a dark-red social shirt that was one of his favorites. That way he wouldn’t look too informal _or_ too formal. As he entered the Musain, bearing nothing other than his wallet and his phone (in case Courfeyrac or Lamarque called), he greeted the waitresses, which already knew him, since he was a regular.

“You’ll want the usual, chérie?”, one of them approached Enjolras as he took a sit on the table by the window, notepad already in hand. Enjolras smiled softly at her – Floreal, that was her name – and shook his head.

“Not today, mademoiselle. I am waiting for someone”, he explained. Floreal raised her eyebrows and gave him an approving and yet surprised smile.

“Oh, finally, Enjolras!”, she exclaimed, excitedly taking the seat in front of Enjolras on the table, even though she was on duty, and placing her notebook idly to the side. There was a wide smile on her pinky lips, and a few strands of her brunette hair fell upon her beaming face. Her happiness was contagious and Enjolras found himself smiling back as the girl leaned her chin on one of her hands with interest. “What does he look like? What is his name? Where did you meet him? How long have you been together?”

“Ok, calm down”, Enjolras raised one hand, flattered by her genuine interest in his life but feeling a little too pressured. Out of all the nice waitresses in the Musain, Floreal was the most sympathetic, and the one for whom Enjolras had the most affection. She had some sort of sincere, easy-going personality that made it impossible for anyone to dislike her, a blatant enthusiasm about even the most banal aspects of life that made her almost childlike. Her happiness was endearing and even though she usually kept Enjolras from working whenever he went to the Musain with that purpose, since she would always indulge in small talk with him, he enjoyed her company and cherished it. She was one of the only people to whom Enjolras had bothered to come up with a lie about his field of work – he couldn’t tell her he was a secret agent, so he just told her he was a private detective. This lie matched his irregular work hours, his ability to carry a gun, should he be seen with one, and the amount of work he always seemed to be doing, while it also kept her safe from knowing his true identity. Floreal didn’t try to second guess him or even think twice about his job – she just continued her jibber jabber for as long as Enjolras was willing to listen to her. Since she had just begun her major on Philosophy and had some very interesting ideas about it, Enjolras was _always_ willing to listen to her.

“Sorry, I know, too many questions at once”, she apologized, looking almost embarrassed. “But I’m so _glad_ for you, Enjolras! Having someone in your life will be so nice! You work yourself too hard, sometimes”.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but Floreal had known him for long enough to not take offense in that.

“I don’t even know where this is going”, Enjolras admitted, even though he couldn’t really tell her the true reason behind his hesitation. “I met him two days ago. I guess I’ll just try things out; take it slow”.

“Oh, _please_ , do us both a favor and allow yourself to indulge on this one, ok?”, it was her time to roll her eyes, a quirk she must have caught from Enjolras. “Like I said, it would be good for you. I know your job has some sort of messed up policy on dating, but you need to live your life, Enjolras. What is the point of living if you live without love?”

“Don’t get all romantic on me”, Enjolras sighed, even though there was a small smile on his lips. “There are other points to a person’s life. Helping others. Contributing to society. Fighting to change the world for better”.

“D’aw”, Floreal said, pinching at Enjolras’ cheek like an aunt. “You say this because you’ve never fallen in love”.

“Says who?”, Enjolras frowned, sounding defensive and trying his best to keep Floreal from seeing right through him.

“Says me”, Floreal shrugged triumphantly. “I can tell. You’re always so alone” she smiled sadly, and Enjolras suddenly hated her for pitying him like that. His ridiculous anger was immediately pulverized and replaced by fondness due to the sincere worry in Floreal’s eyes as she continued. “I don’t even know this guy you are meeting today, but I can tell he will be good for you”.

“How so?”, Enjolras asked, disbelieving.

“You don’t have your usual frown on”, she explained as if it was obvious. “And you look about five years younger than usual. If meeting him for two days has given you such an improvement, imagine what good a relationship could do”.

“Wait”, Enjolras frowned. “Five years younger? Does that mean I usually look old?”

“Floreal!”, a voice yelled from the kitchen, and Floreal’s eyes immediately widened.

“Oopsie. I’ve been sitting here for too long. My shift is almost ending. Gotta run”, Floreal said apologetically, grabbing for her notepad and standing up from her seat.

“Did you mean I look old?!”, Enjolras shouted after her, but instead of answering, the girl disappeared into the kitchen with a little wave of her hand. Enjolras huffed out an annoyed breath, pulling his phone from his pocket to both check if Grantaire had texted him, and also to look at his face through the phone’s front camera. Staring at his own reflection, he could see some truth in Floreal’s words – the usual crease between his eyebrows was not as visible – but he didn’t think he looked _younger_. Maybe not as worried as he usually looked, but not younger. He looked just as young as ever. He wasn’t even _thirty_ yet, for god’s sake.

Just as he had put his phone back into his pocket, he heard the bell from the Musain’s door tinkling, and turned his head right in time to see Grantaire rushing in, hair completely disheveled and clothes unkempt as if he had dressed up on the last minute. Enjolras subconsciously squinted his eyes at the sight of him, more because he was interested in what had happened to Grantaire than because he was disapproving. As Grantaire sat down – or more accurately threw himself down – on the chair in front of Enjolras, the agent noticed the tiny droplets of colorful paint spread on Grantaire’s hair and face. He had clearly tried to wash the paint off, but couldn’t get rid of it completely. Beneath his eyes were deep purple bruises, indicating that he hadn’t slept well. He looked exhausted and smelled faintly like cheap alcohol. Enjolras vaguely wondered if he was hungover.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Enjolras, I really am”, Grantaire immediately blurted out, looking sincerely apologetic. “Have you been here for too long?”

“No, I haven’t”, Enjolras said, trying his best to sound reassuring. “Don’t worry about it. What happened to you, though? You look terrible”.

Grantaire’s face was pointed with a sharp hurt look for the tiniest of seconds, making Enjolras realize the weight of his words. He opened his mouth to explain that he hadn’t meant it like that, but Grantaire grinned and shook his head.

“I lost track of time”, he explained, not quite meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “I went to sleep too late last night because I was working on my painting”.

“Oh, and how is it going?”, Enjolras asked with interest. Grantaire scratched the back of his neck nervously, ruffling his own hair as if trying to settle it down before answering.

“It’s… _going_ ”, he shrugged. Enjolras noticed he was bouncing his leg and his fingers were tapping without rhythm against his thigh. Grantaire was clearly nervous, and Enjolras wondered if it had anything to do with his bad night of sleep. “I shouldn’t have left it all for the last minute, now I’m driving myself crazy trying to finish I and it’s probably going to suck”.

“No, it won’t”, Enjolras frowned, uncomfortable with Grantaire’s self-deprecation.

“You can’t know that, you haven’t seen it”, Grantaire scoffed with a look that told Enjolras he didn’t believe him for one second.

“That’s true”, Enjolras nodded respectfully. “But you are an artist. If you think it’s bad, then it probably isn’t”.

“ _That_ doesn’t make any sense”, Grantaire chuckled, raising his eyebrows and pointing one finger at Enjolras matter-of-factly.

“It’s the truth, though. Van Gogh didn’t see any worth in his art, and he has produced many of the greatest masterpieces that the world has ever seen”, Enjolras shrugged. “But since you’re so worried, I could go to your exposition and check it for myself whether it sucks or not”.

Grantaire finally met his eyes, raising his head sharply at the mention of Van Gogh. His fingers stopped their tapping and his eyes were wide open in shock.

“Did you just compare me to Vincent Van Gogh?”, he asked, a sort of bewilderment in his tone. Enjolras blinked several times, trying to figure out whether Grantaire was reacting like that because he was happy or displeased with the comparison.

“I… suppose I did”, Enjolras answered firmly, even though he felt hesitant and insecure about what he should say. Did Grantaire love Van Gogh or hated him? Enjolras should have thought about it better before saying something like that. How would he react if Grantaire assumed he liked someone, per say, Adam Smith, and just compared Enjolras to him? Grantaire stared at him for several moments, face completely blank, until he burst into a nervous laughter that had his shoulders rattling and his curls bouncing. Enjolras stared at him, confused.

“Oh my god I can’t _believe_ you”, he giggled, hugging his own torso and leaning forwards on the table.

“I don’t understand”, Enjolras admitted, smiling hesitantly at Grantaire.

“Oh, no, no, no, don’t get me wrong, I’m _flattered_ ”, Grantaire clarified, raising a calming hand at Enjolras. “I don’t think I’d be able to express how flattered I am even if I tried. Van Gogh is like my major inspiration and my _major_ art crush, if you want to put it like that”, he said, and the statement was enough to make Enjolras let out a breath of relief that went unnoticed by Grantaire. “But you _did_ compare me to a broke, depressed man who cut off his own ear and committed suicide”, he added with a shrug, staring at Enjolras with a half-mocking, half-apologetic smile.

“I didn’t mean it like that”, Enjolras frowned, defensive. “And it’s not as if being mentally ill diminishes your value as a person. Van Gogh may have been depressed and schizophrenic, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t terrific in his art”.

“Sure, but it’s not very nice to compare a struggling art student with major depression to an artist who killed himself after going through basically the same stuff”, Grantaire explained, and even though he was smiling sincerely, Enjolras could feel the conversation had headed towards a more serious path.

“You have depression?”, he asked, voice less assertive than it had been before as he felt unsure whether he should bring this subject up or not.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you need to sugar coat me, ok?”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, suddenly looking insecure. Well, that explained a lot about his self-deprecation, Enjolras figured. “I’m just a guy. It doesn’t define me. Well, actually, it kind of does, but welp. What can I do. Can we just… not talk about it?”

“Sure”, Enjolras nodded politely, even though he knew, deep down, that they would need to talk about it eventually. However, this was still only their second date, and Enjolras didn’t want to spoil it by forcing Grantaire to talk about personal subjects that he didn’t feel comfortable approaching just yet. He swallowed dry, straightening himself on his seat and trying to think of a plausible subject to talk about.

 “But you’d like that, though?”, Grantaire ended up blurting out, thinking faster than Enjolras as usual. “Going to my exposition, I mean”, he clarified when he saw the confused expression on Enjolras’ face.

“Of course”, Enjolras frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Grantaire leaned a bit back against his chair, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Do you want to go because you’re interested in art, because you want to see me or because you want to prove me wrong about my art sucking?”, he asked after a few moments of ponderation. Enjolras swallowed dry, once again taken aback by Grantaire’s easiness in reading him. He was so lost at his own surprise that he didn’t see Floreal waving goodbye at him as she left the Musain for the day.

“A bit of all of them”, Enjolras admitted after thinking about that for a few moments. Though art wasn’t exactly something that caught his attention, Enjolras wouldn’t mind going to an exposition, as long as it didn’t collide with his working hours. He _did_ want to have an excuse for seeing Grantaire after the Musain, and the fact that he didn’t exactly know any other good places to have a date at was a plus. And finally, he really _wanted_ to prove Grantaire wrong, because something told him – another one of his gut feelings – that Grantaire was very good at art. “I enjoy art; I do believe I just talked about Van Gogh to you”.

“Name at least three paintings by Van Gogh”, Grantaire said teasingly, a grin on his lips.

“Now you’re sounding just like those nerd boys who can’t stand having a girl enjoying comic books and make them name ridiculous things to prove themselves, like the name of Jack Kirby’s father or the date of birth of Hulk’s girlfriend”, Enjolras rolled his eyes disapprovingly, trying to hide his embarrassment for not knowing the answer with annoyance. “But just because I want to prove you wrong, I’ll say Starry Night, the sunflower one and the self-portrait one”, he shrugged, acting nonchalant. Grantaire chuckled.

“Well, that just proves my point”, Grantaire grinned wickedly in a way that resembled Courfeyrac whenever he bested Enjolras. “But I don’t blame you. Enjoying art is a tricky thing – who should you like best, the great names or the edgy, unknown artists that only achieve fame after their death?”

“Van Gogh fits that last description”, Enjolras argued, clinging to his only piece of knowledge about art as if it was a lifeline. He was uncomfortable that Grantaire knew more than him about something.

“He does”, Grantaire agreed with a smile. “But knowing that isn’t really special. Everybody _knows_ about Van Gogh’s life”, he grimaced apologetically.

“Well, not all of us have the time to worry about art and artists and the names of paintings”, Enjolras huffed with annoyance. He hated how _stupid_ and inappropriate Grantaire seemed to make him feel.

“Hey there, Enjy-bear”, a waitress approached them, and Enjolras realized it was Irma.

“Salut, Irma”, Enjolras greeted sympathetically, even though his smile felt forced and unnatural, and Grantaire raised an amused eyebrow before nodding politely at the woman. She fished her note pad out of her pocket in a way that resembled Floreal.

“What can I get you handsome boys today?”, she asked, eyeing Grantaire with interest for a few seconds before turning back to Enjolras with a shit-eating grin that told him she knew exactly what was up. “You’ll want the usual?”, she asked him.

“Yes, thank you. I believe Grantaire will need the menu, though”, Enjolras said, doing his best not to feel embarrassed by Irma’s stare.

“No need, mademoiselle”, Grantaire said politely, turning to her. “I’ll have whatever he ordered”.

“You don’t even know what my usual order is”, Enjolras frowned.

“If you like Van Gogh, then you have good taste”, Grantaire winked – actually winked – at him. Enjolras lowered his eyes. He supposed that was a good enough apology for Grantaire being so… arrogant about art. It wasn’t the kind of apology Enjolras would have liked, but it seemed to be one, all the same.

“Be back in a tick”, Irma said, and Enjolras didn’t bother to look up at her, already capable of imagining the kind of look that would be on her face. Instead, he focused on trying to come up with a new subject of conversation that wouldn’t make him feel so alienated.

“Yeah, I forgot you’re a busy bee, so you probably don’t have too much time to spend on art anyway”, Grantaire continued as if they hadn’t just been interrupted. “How is your vacation going, by the way?”

“Don’t call it a vacation”, Enjolras reprimanded, remembering the way Courfeyrac had called it a holiday on the day before. “It’s… going”, he mimicked Grantaire’s response from earlier, earning a pleased grin from the man.

“Do you really like working that much, that you get all grumpy because you’re getting time off?”, Grantaire raised an amused eyebrow, perplex.

“I’m not grumpy, I’m just really bored”, Enjolras sighed with frustration, idly playing with the salt keeper on their table and not quite looking at Grantaire. “I’m not used to having all this time just for myself. I don’t know what to do with all the spare time”, he shrugged.

“Which is probably why your boss kicked you out of your… wherever you work at”, he said. Even though he didn’t push the subject, Enjolras could sense a hint of polite curiosity in Grantaire’s tone. He figured out that refusing to talk about his work with Grantaire would be more suspicious than telling him he was a private detective, just like he had told Floreal.

“I work at an office”, Enjolras sighed. That much was true. “I’m a private detective”. That part was only half-truth, but Grantaire didn’t need to know that.

Grantaire’s surprise was evident on his face, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before he could muster a response.

“A private detective”, he affirmed in a flat tone, eyes glued to Enjolras’ face.

“You can see why I’m not very comfortable with sharing this with random strangers”, Enjolras said as naturally as he could. By telling Grantaire that he was a detective, not only he was protecting the man from knowing too much, but he was also keeping up with the ABC’s strict protocol on having relationships. Under no circumstances was Grantaire to know about Enjolras’ true job. As much as he hated lying, this was the only way he could have a relationship with someone. It was safer, for Enjolras and for his possible date.

“And yet here you are, telling me all about it on our second date”, Grantaire raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I am a great judge of character”, Enjolras shrugged, aware of how self-absorbed he sounded. “And I wouldn’t tell you this unless I trusted you. Plus, I’m not telling you _all about it_ ; I literally just told you the title of my job”, he rolled his eyes.

“Aw, how sweet”, Grantaire said teasingly. “But I haven’t really done anything to earn your trust yet. Don’t worry, though. Your secret’s safe with me”, he winked at Enjolras again, and something inside his stomach twisted and fluttered. It made him feel sick and warm all over at the same time.

“It’d better be”, Enjolras ended up sounding more menacing than friendly. “Otherwise you’d end up being prosecuted or something of that kind”.

Grantaire’s face fell at this, as if he had been hit by a sudden realization. His eyes momentarily lost their glow as he stared up at Enjolras with something akin to suspicion and hurt. Enjolras frowned, confused by the sudden change. “What is it?”

“You’re not… _investigating_ me, are you?”, Grantaire asked, insecure, his frown mimicking Enjolras’. He looked very concerned.

“What? No”, Enjolras immediately said, defensive. He had to admit he was a bit taken aback by Grantaire’s question. Did he really think that was a possibility? “Why would I be investigating you?”

Grantaire blushed – actually blushed – at this, averting his eyes downwards and away from Enjolras. Irma returned then, with both their orders – two fuming chicken sandwiches with lettuce, tomato and sauce. She placed the plates in front of each of them, but noticing the awkward atmosphere between the men by the table, departed without saying anything. Enjolras wanted Grantaire to answer his question, but the man was clearly uncomfortable with the subject, so instead of pushing it, he took his fork and knife and started to cut himself a piece of his sandwich, waiting for Grantaire to break the silence.

“Let’s just say I used to have a boyfriend some time ago, and we didn’t part in the best of terms”, Grantaire ended up saying after a long time, in a tone that told Enjolras that he wasn’t going to share more than strictly necessary. Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat, but he did his best to remain impassive. “I wouldn’t exactly doubt his nerve to hire a private detective to investigate me”.

“That sounds horrible, R”, Enjolras said empathetically, sincerity flooding his voice. He outstretched a hand and reached out for Grantaire’s. To think that someone would be that invasive towards a man nice as Grantaire was infuriating to say the least. And Enjolras didn’t even know what exactly had happened between Grantaire and that man. The skeptic, however, chuckled briefly, as if amused.

“You just called me R”, he explained upon noticing Enjolras’ confusion.

“Isn’t that what nicknames are for?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Grantaire nodded and shrugged at the same time.

“It’s just I liked how it sounded, coming from you”, Grantaire said lovingly.

“I’ll use it more often, if you liked it so much”, Enjolras smiled. Grantaire rolled his eyes and threw himself back on the chair, emitting a low, frustrated groan.

“Ugh, who allowed you to be so perfect?”, he asked, almost mournful. Enjolras felt confused and prevented a blush from rising to his face.

“I’m sorry?”, he frowned, taken aback. Grantaire straightened himself on the chair again, sighing heavily and running a hand through his curls, the sandwich in front of him untouched.

“C’mon, Enjolras? A pretty guy such as yourself, looking like a fucking Greek god reborn, suddenly decides to give a chance to a guy like me in a bar, out of _nowhere_ , and actually agrees to give me his number and go out on a date with me? How am I supposed to think that you’re _not_ investigating me?”, he asked matter-of-factly.

“Grantaire, I would never do that”, Enjolras reassured, very serious and sincere. He put his fork and knife down on the plate politely so that Grantaire could see Enjolras was giving him his full attention. “Not only that is extremely unethical, but that isn’t me. I would never use a person like that. I gave you my number because I found you interesting; there is no one investigating you”.

Grantaire eyed him hesitantly, looking as if he wanted to believe him but couldn’t find it in himself to.

“Your sandwich is getting cold”, Enjolras gave him a tentative smile, wanting the subject to drop. He wasn’t using Grantaire or even investigating him, but if he asked Enjolras too many questions, things could end up getting ugly. Enjolras _hated_ lying, but he couldn’t tell Grantaire the truth in this situation. Not being completely honest with him was occupational hazard. Enjolras had naively expected Grantaire to just accept the private detective story without making much of a fuss, just like Floreal had, but he had once again taken Grantaire’s intelligence for granted. That was not to say that Floreal was not intelligent, on the contrary – every single conversation she bothered to share with Enjolras, no matter how trivial, always caught his attention and interested him to no end. But there was something in Grantaire that was absent in Floreal, some sort of mix between curiosity and distrust that made him second guess every single thing Enjolras told him. Enjolras vaguely wondered what it would be like to talk to Grantaire about real politics.

“Yeah, guess you’re right”, Grantaire desisted, even though he still looked uncertain about Enjolras intentions.

“Look, I’m not investigating you, ok?”, Enjolras sighed, feeling guilty for making Grantaire think something like that was even a possibility. “I promise. I shouldn’t have said anything”, he huffed in frustration.

“No, I’m glad you did”, it was Grantaire’s turn to sigh, sounding regretful. “I’m sorry for making such a fuss. It’s just that… I sometimes have trust issues, or something. I’m also sorry for blurting out about _all_ of my issues at you at once. But at least we’ve already gotten that covered up right away”, he waved vaguely with his fork, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Wow, this is pretty good. And I don’t even like chicken”.

“I knew you should have known the order before you took it”, Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I just said this is pretty good”, Grantaire shrugged, putting the fork down and grabbing some napkins for himself. “It’s so good I’ll even eat like a decent person”. He enveloped the sandwich with the napkins and took it in his hands, taking a large bite out of it and chewing with delight.

“Are you implying that I’m not eating decently?”, Enjolras raised an offended eyebrow. Grantaire just nodded emphatically, as if that was exactly his point.

“Who eats sandwich with a fork? It takes away the whole thrill of the experience”, Grantaire said solemnly before taking another bite. Enjolras stared at him unaffected.

“The experience of getting sauce all over your face”, he argued, continuing to cut a piece of sandwich just to make a point. Grantaire took the hint and cleaned his chin with a clean napkin before continuing to bite down on the sandwich.

“It’s no fun unless you get sauce on your face”, Grantaire tilted his chin upwards defiantly. “Oh, c’mon, ange, give it a try! Eating like that makes you look like one of those rich, posh boys who have caviar and wine for dinner every night”, he teased, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone that made Enjolras’ blood warm up in anger. “Oops, there it is. The angry, ‘how-dare-you-say-that’ scowl”.

“I’m not scowling”, Enjolras scowled. Grantaire giggled.

“Yes, you are. Are you mad I called you rich?”, he asked, and to Enjolras’ surprise, finished eating his sandwich with one final bite. Enjolras himself had only managed to eat half of it.

“No, I just think that it’s ridiculous you would associate wealth with hygiene”, Enjolras rolled his eyes, continuing to eat his sandwich. “Plus, I am not rich. I’m sorry I gave you that impression”.

Grantaire burst into incredulous laughter at this, actually slamming his palm loudly on the table in such an obnoxious way that it made Enjolras cringe slightly.

“What is it now?”, Enjolras sighed, feeling slightly humiliated by Grantaire’s mockery.

“You just _apologized for looking rich_ ”, Grantaire giggled, shaking his head matter-of-factly. “I don’t think you could have sounded _more_ SJW if you tried”.

“You talk as if defending social justice was wrong”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow that dared Grantaire to disagree with him. The man merely shrugged.

“I’m not saying it’s wrong”, Grantaire said, still smiling, leaning back against his chair. “But it’s not changing anything. You might as well start yelling at a wall”.

“So you don’t think activities such as crowdfunding and protesting change anything?”, Enjolras dropped his fork on the plate, straightening himself on his seat.

“Are there still starving children in Africa?”, Grantaire counter-argued, crossing his arms on the top of his chest.

“Did you just generalize an entire continent?!”, Enjolras exclaimed, indignant.

“Did you just ignore the starving children over political correctness?”, Grantaire tilted his chin up, unaffected.

“I did _not_ ”, Enjolras protested. “And I wasn’t being politically correct. You really shouldn’t act as if Africa is a wasteland of disease and famine when there’s so much more to it. That’s biased”.

“ _You_ thinking that protesting against the government will actually change anything is _biased_ ”, Grantaire pointed out, giving Enjolras the most annoying ‘there’s-no-way-you-will-counter-argument-that’ look. “People have been protesting for centuries and look at where we are. Still at the same spot”, he gestured vaguely at the space around him.

“Not at the same spot”, Enjolras frowned. “We have improved a lot, compared to one century ago. Surely there is still a long path ahead of us, a path which will _never_ improve unless we take a stand and try to change things for the better”.

“Women and black people have been fighting for their rights for decades and they are still oppressed by institutionalized sexism and racism”, Grantaire argued. “Surely slavery is… _mostly_ gone, and yet, just look at the way America treats their PoC. They have been protesting for years now, and what good has it done them?”

“It’s still better than not protesting at all”, Enjolras refuted.

“Really? Getting murdered by the police and suffering brutality is better than staying safely at home?”, Grantaire raised a discrediting eyebrow.

“Are you saying black people should conform to institutionalized racism?!”, Enjolras exclaimed, a little bit too loudly. Several people in the Musain turned to stare at the pair with disapproving looks.

“ _Maybe_ you shouldn’t go around yelling that, don’t you think?”, Grantaire suggested, looking like he was doing his best not to burst into laughter. Enjolras, on the other hand, was doing very poorly at his attempt to keep calm and was actually red-faced and fuming at Grantaire. How could he have believed that Grantaire was worth his time? With all the things he was saying to Enjolras! With all his biased opinions and skepticism! Enjolras felt the urge to stand up and leave, but realized how that would make him look like a child throwing a tantrum. Instead, he remained at the table, leaning forwards so that Grantaire could hear him, since he had lowered his tone to avoid unwanted attention.

“Staying safely at home doing nothing is not only turning a blind eye to the suffering of others, but also aiding in the perpetuation of the very prejudice that oppresses them”, Enjolras whispered, but his voice ended up sounding more menacing than anything. Grantaire nodded, looking unimpressed.

“Would you rather stay home and live or go out and die?”, Grantaire asked simply. “By the way, you can’t answer that, since you’re white and all”, he added just for the sake of seeing Enjolras’ jaw tighten in displeasure.

“Don’t you see?”, Enjolras scoffed in disbelief at Grantaire’s flawed argument. “Racism is so strong in the US that they might die if they stay home as well. Black people are getting killed for trivial things like going out for a walk, or driving a car, or wearing a hoodie. Things won’t change unless _we_ make a change”.

“And you think painting up a bunch of cardboards and closing down a street to yell at nothing and break some public property will make a change?”, Grantaire raised his eyebrows. Enjolras wanted to punch him, but bit at his lower lip instead.

“What would you suggest, then?”, Enjolras proposed ironically, leaning back against his seat and crossing his arms above his chest in a way that mimicked Grantaire almost perfectly, if it wasn’t for the fact that Grantaire looked smug and Enjolras looked like he was about to have a stroke.

“You’re asking the wrong guy”, Grantaire shrugged as if they were talking about something as simple as the weather. “I never said I had the right answer. I just think _your_ answer is wrong. Protesting only ever results in either police brutality, a reason for the government to criminalize the already marginal groups, short-term solutions that will be forgotten or changed in just a couple of years or all these three together. Humanity is bound to commit the same mistakes over and over again throughout the course of history. You might as well conform to the fact that humanity sucks and will always treat people like shit, than to waste your precious energy on trying to change it”.

“How can you be so skeptical?”, Enjolras snapped, angry at Grantaire’s declaration. Everything Enjolras had ever done in his life was under the belief that there was goodness to people, that there was a way to improve things. Enjolras believed in humanity’s potential to be kind at heart, rather than naturally evil, and he had made it his life goal to prove himself right. Cutting ties with his family, recruiting for the ABC after Lamarque looked for him and Courfeyrac at the university campus, becoming an agent and neglecting his personal life – all of that had been done so that he could actually try and make a change in the best way he could. His stupid blog was only one of the many aspects of the ideology that ruled Enjolras’ very being – that humanity was good and deserved better. Not only that, but the ideology that things _could_ change for better if people could be brave enough to take a stand. To have Grantaire dismiss everything Enjolras believed in right at his face and with no consideration at all, as simply as breathing, was not only infuriating, but also frustrating. He was tearing all of Enjolras’ beliefs apart as if they were insignificant, and that made Enjolras angry. Angry enough to finally lose his temper altogether and snap, without considering his words: “Just because you’ve had a shitty life with horrible people, it doesn’t mean that everyone has to be horrible as well”.

Immediately after the words left his mouth, Enjolras regretted them. The smug smile disappeared from Grantaire’s face to give place to a shocked expression. He looked as if Enjolras had just punched him in the face. All the humor and the teasing that had been so evident in his face had vanished completely, and it was only with their absence that Enjolras came to realize they had been there in the first place. Maybe Grantaire wasn’t being serious after all; maybe he was just teasing Enjolras as he always seemed to be doing. Maybe he was just joking – a terrible, ill-tasted joke, but a joke all the same – and Enjolras had gotten too carried away by his own impulsivity and ended up being terribly, horribly rude. What was it about Grantaire that made Enjolras so impulsive? He wanted to scream in frustration, but most of all he wanted to apologize to Grantaire, even though the cynic had been in the wrong. Enjolras’ words had been unnecessarily harsh and had touched a clearly sensitive spot of Grantaire’s life, even though Grantaire had been unnecessarily annoying. Grantaire’s shock seemed to turn into anger in the course of the few seconds that it took Enjolras to acknowledge his mistake, and he scoffed.

“Yeah, _sorry_. Not all of us had the privilege of growing up in a perfect household with servants all around and top-notch education”, Grantaire scowled, sounding bitter. He wasn’t meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “And not all of us had the luck of having _good_ people in their lives”.

“You think I had servants? And a perfect family?”, Enjolras shook his head, baffled by Grantaire’s ignorance of his history. The thoughts of apologizing were momentarily replaced by indignation.

“Well, I wouldn’t know that, would I?”, Grantaire huffed out a bitter breath, pointedly turning his head away from Enjolras as he spoke. “You barely say anything about your life”.

A tense silence followed, in which neither of them knew what to say. In one hand, Enjolras wanted to blurt out anything and everything about his life to Grantaire just to make a point and prove that Grantaire was wrong, but he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. His job and his identity came over _anything_ else, no matter how fond he was of Grantaire. And he had already told Grantaire enough. Maybe not enough personal detail, such as his favorite book or his favorite movie; those silly, frivolous things that people enjoyed knowing about each other during dates. But Grantaire had his phone, his name and Enjolras had even told him his usual lie about working as a detective. That was good enough for a second date, wasn’t it?

Grantaire had blurted out about his entire life: his tastes, his work, his previous relationship, his mental illness. Those facts had come up to his tongue as easily as breathing, and Enjolras figured that was just a part of his extroverted personality. Enjolras _wasn’t_ like that. Even if he wasn’t a secret agent, he wouldn’t find it as easy to share personal stuff as Grantaire seemed to. That just… wasn’t like him. Getting to know Enjolras was something that took time, if Courfeyrac had any say in that matter. Maybe _reading_ Enjolras was not something difficult – at least not to Courf and, apparently, not to Grantaire as well – but becoming intimate with him was a process that didn’t happen overnight. He wished there was an easy way to let Grantaire know that he was reserved and not exactly oversharing, but staring at the man in front of him, Enjolras only saw anger, disappointment and the tiniest hint of hurt. His heart leaped uncomfortably and he felt extremely guilty for making Grantaire feel that way, even though the man himself had made Enjolras feel something similar.

He lowered his eyes and found that his sandwich was still sitting only half-eaten on his plate. Maybe he couldn’t find it in himself to put his pride aside and apologize, but maybe he could say he was sorry in a silent way, the same way Grantaire had done during their discussion on Van Gogh. He grabbed himself some napkins and enveloped the rest of his sandwich with them, taking a tentative bite just to please Grantaire by eating the sandwich his way. The chicken had mostly cooled off by then, but it was still edible. Grantaire eyed him cautiously as Enjolras continued to eat his sandwich in silence, a tiny bit of sauce dribbling down the corner of his mouth without him noticing it. By the time he finished eating, he placed the scrunched napkins on the top of his plate, not sure of what to do next as he stared up at Grantaire with apologetic eyes.

“Oh, you’re hopeless”, Grantaire ended up huffing out, sounding angry at himself for forgiving Enjolras so easily and leaning forwards to run a thumb against the corner of Enjolras’ mouth, meaning to clear away the sauce there. Enjolras stiffened, but didn’t lean away from the touch as Grantaire rubbed the skin of his lip. “There. Maybe you should stick to your fork if you’re going to drool all over yourself like a toddler”, he said, a little bit more aggressive than necessary. For some reason, his angry tone didn’t spark the need for retaliation in Enjolras.

“You had sauce on your face just a while ago”, Enjolras said, but there was no accusation or hostility in his tone. Grantaire sighed heavily.

“Touché”, he desisted. “I just can’t win with you”, he added in a mournful tone.

“Of course you can”, Enjolras reassured. “You just won’t know you won because I won’t back down”, he added with a smile that was meant to be sympathetic. Grantaire eyed him for some moments before returning it with a grin.

“I guess we’ll have a problem, then”, he shrugged. “I’m not one to back down, either”.

Enjolras almost sighed in relief as their conversation returned to a lighthearted path. He gestured for Irma that he wanted the bill for their lunch, and as he fished the wallet out of his pocket, he stared back at Grantaire.

“Well, if you would make an exception for me and back down just this once, I would like to walk you back home”, he said tentatively, almost hesitant. Not wanting to give Grantaire the wrong impression (he needed to take things _slow_ , for god’s sake), he added, just for the sake of making himself clear: “As an apology for my harsh words”. Seeing the wide-eyed look that appeared on Grantaire’s face as he heard the words was definitely worth putting his pride aside for some moments.

“It’s ok”, Grantaire waved him off after the few seconds it took for him to make sense of Enjolras’ words, not quite meeting his eyes. “No need to apologize”.

“I was unnecessarily rude to you”, Enjolras stated matter-of-factly.

“True”, Grantaire shrugged without hesitation.

“And even though you were being unnecessarily rude to me as well, I would like to make it up for you”, Enjolras continued, raising an eyebrow. Grantaire studied him carefully.

“Right”, he said after a while. “I suppose I’m sorry too. I still think you’re wrong, though”, he added just for the sake of it. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I also think that you’re wrong; I was just trying to be the grown up here”, Enjolras sighed. Irma approached them with the bill, and handed it to Enjolras. Grantaire made a movement that indicated he was intending on paying it, but Enjolras quickly cut him short before he could even start: “Don’t even think about it. We agreed that I would get to pay for our second date”.

Grantaire looked like he wanted to protest, but let himself sink on his chair, a displeased look on his face.

“Enjolras here is very polite”, Irma commented teasingly as she waited for Enjolras’ credit card to be accepted on the little machine. “A true gentleman. You’re lucky that you caught his attention. I’d never seen him with… _company_ before”, she wiggled her eyebrows at Grantaire, who grinned wickedly.

“Really? Am I your first date ever?”, Grantaire asked teasingly, and Enjolras knew he was just saying that for the sake of jesting, but had Grantaire known the truth behind his own words, he would have kept them for himself. Still, Enjolras blushed, not meeting his eyes as Irma handed him the machine for the password input.

“I wouldn’t know that for sure; he’s not really a sharer, you know”, Irma said thoughtfully, resting a hand against her hip. “But he’s a good lad. Just treat him right and don’t argue about politics with him. He gets really riled up when people try to outsmart him”, she nodded to herself.

“Is that so?”, Grantaire raised an interested eyebrow, not looking at Irma, but at Enjolras, who was trying to hide his blush. He handed the machine back to Irma with a tight, forced smile.

“I think that would be all”, he said suggestively, but Irma merely giggled as she handed the credit card back to him.

“He also hates when people talk about him as if he isn’t there”, she added with a mischievous smile.

“ _He_ is sitting right here and is about to leave”, Enjolras rolled his eyes, standing up from his seat. “Au revoir, Irma. See you around sometime”.

“Adieu, Enjolras”, Irma nodded her head, picking their plates from the table and placing them on the tray in her hand. “Don’t disappear! Floreal misses you when you get all caught up with work”.

“I’ll try not to”, Enjolras smiled as he walked over to Grantaire so that they could walk side by side. “Send her my best”.

“Send it yourself!”, Irma said playfully.

“Au revoir, mademoiselle”, Grantaire said as he stood, bowing slightly and placing a kiss on the back of Irma’s free hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you”.

“How polite! You two match”, she said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “What was your name again?”

“Grantaire, but you can call me R”, Grantaire said, grinning widely at Irma. She stared back at him with a confused look in her face, squinting her eyes slightly.

“Ok...”, she said, clearly not understanding the pun. “You two, be safe, huh!” she added, walking away, and Enjolras couldn’t decide if there was a sexual innuendo behind her words or not. He decided that, even if it was her intention, he wouldn’t comment on it. Not sure what else he was supposed to do – should he grab Grantaire’s hand? Allow him to walk first? Tap him on the shoulder? – Enjolras decided to march to the door himself and pull it open for Grantaire. The man seemed a bit embarrassed by Enjolras holding the door for him, but stepped out of the Corinthe first all the same.

“I suppose you’ll have to lead the way, since I don’t know where you live”, Enjolras said after he and Grantaire stood in silence for a few seconds, awkwardly staring at each other.

“What a lousy detective”, Grantaire scoffed, but his eyes were playful and he actually grinned when Enjolras rolled his eyes at him.

“There’s no reason for me to investigate you”, Enjolras explained as Grantaire began to walk and he followed blindly. “ _Or_ know where you live”.

“You’re gonna learn soon enough”, Grantaire shrugged, both hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “But I live kind of far away from here, though. You don’t really need to walk me home; I accepted your apology”.

“If it’s far, then I won’t let you walk back on your own”, Enjolras frowned. “Would you rather take a cab?”

“Not sure the cabbie would take the ride”, Grantaire chuckled uncomfortably. “I don’t exactly live in the safest of neighborhoods”.

“Oh”, Enjolras blinked, surprised by this information. “I’m sorry to hear it”.

“Nah, that’s fine. I knew that was bound to happen when I decided to be an art major”, he shrugged. Enjolras frowned.

“Not all art majors are…”, he almost said ‘poor’, but realized that would probably come off as rude, and Enjolras was trying to redeem himself here, for god’s sake. Grantaire seemed to understand exactly what he meant, and scoffed.

“Yeah, just _most_ of them”, he rolled his eyes. “Hey, no need to patronize me, ok? Like I said, I signed up for this. It’s just… occupational hazard of being an artist. What’s the fun of making art _and_ having money, anyway?”, he chuckled ironically.

“Having a financially stable life and living in a safe neighborhood?”, Enjolras suggested, raising an eyebrow. He knew exactly what Grantaire’s argument would be before the man even caught his breath to say it.

“I thought you hated rich people”, Grantaire smirked before Enjolras could have the time to stop him. The agent rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

“I don’t _hate_ rich people”, Enjolras explained, feeling like it was stupid to have to explain that at all. “I don’t hate anyone. I just think some rich people – ok, not some, _all_ rich people – could be bothered to be more helpful to those in need. Thousands of people still die of starvation in plain 21 st century because of this messed up capitalist system of distribution, and they don’t even consider donating to people less fortunate than them? I’m not rich, but I always try to save money for donations, and not only to this cause, but to several others. I can’t actively change all the bad things in the world, but I can at least try. If all rich people did the same, we could make some real change. And plus, having a financially stable life doesn’t mean _being rich_ , it just means not being under the risk of being stabbed or robbed every time you step out of your house”.

“I’m starting to think that you _actually_ rehearse speeches in front of a mirror every night”, Grantaire said, with a genuine amused look on his face. This made Enjolras feel inappropriate and embarrassed, and he turned his head so that he wasn’t facing Grantaire. The fact that he had just ignored Enjolras’ entire argument for the sake of humor was incredibly annoying. He was once again overwhelmed with the urge to simply walk away and never have to deal with Grantaire again, but for the sake of politeness – and _only_ for the sake of politeness, he told himself – he decided to continue to accompany Grantaire on his trek home.

“Can you ever be serious or do you constantly feel the urge to make fun of things?”, Enjolras asked with a clearly displeased expression. Grantaire rolled his eyes, but there was no malice on his face as he bumped Enjolras lightly on the shoulder with his own, in an almost friendly manner.

“I have never been serious in my life”, Grantaire said mockingly. Enjolras sighed. “I am, however, very worried about you spending your nights role playing hypothetical discussions in your head just so you can have the cleverest response”, he shrugged. “It makes your discourse sound unnatural, you know”.

“It has worked so far. The fact that you are criticizing my methods, rather than the argument itself, just proves my point”, he said triumphantly, but Grantaire merely howled with laughter.

“You do realize you just confirmed that you role play discussions to improve your arguments, right?”, Grantaire giggled childishly, and Enjolras’ lips formed a thin, displeased line. “Oh, come on, no need to get all grumpy, I’m just teasing you”, Grantaire said, his tone more gentle than before. Enjolras almost believed him. “But just saying, I would gladly take part in _real_ arguments with you so that you can come up with better ideas. _And_ a discourse that doesn’t make you sound like a robot”, he bumped Enjolras on the shoulder again.

“Is that what your idea of a date is?”, Enjolras raised a judging eyebrow at Grantaire. “Arguing until someone gets pissed off or gives up?”

“Well, it seems to be working out for me so far”, Grantaire shrugged, smiling wickedly at Enjolras, who huffed out a breath at Grantaire’s arrogance.

“Is that so?”, he gave Grantaire a look that said ‘no, that isn’t so’.

“You haven’t left yet”, Grantaire pointed out with a triumphant expression. Enjolras felt a twinge of anger twist his gut, and impulsively retorted:

“Well, I won’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind”.

Grantaire, surprisingly, didn’t look hurt at this, but rather threw his head back and laughed loudly, catching the attention of some of the passerby on the street. Enjolras watched curiously – even though he didn’t really want to hurt Grantaire again, his words had been deliberately meant to cause a negative effect, not a positive one.

“Care to share what’s so funny?”, Enjolras asked, feeling left out of an internal joke. Grantaire took a few seconds to catch his breath before responding.

“I just thought of a really inappropriate reply to what you said”, Grantaire explained, passing a hand through his wild curls carelessly. This just made his hair look more disheveled and messy, and Enjolras had to smother down the urge to put the curls into place using his hands and fingers.

“And yet here you are, making fun of me for rehearsing my arguments”, Enjolras scoffed. “A man who laughs madly, in the middle of the street, because of a hypothetical response”.

“Aren’t you curious to know what it was?”, Grantaire raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Will it make a difference if I say no?”, Enjolras responded playfully, trying to sound bored.

“Well, I was going to say that _thinking_ about doing something is not equivalent to _actually_ doing it, because if that was the case then I would be doing _you_ right now”, Grantaire said with a shit-eating grin. Enjolras made sure to stare straight ahead of him, because if he looked at Grantaire there was an incredibly high chance that he would blush and that would be terribly embarrassing. He kept trying to remind himself of what he had decided, that he would take things slow, but Grantaire wasn’t exactly making it easy for him.

“That’s a terrible pick up line”, Enjolras settled for saying, because there wasn’t much else he could say without giving Grantaire the wrong idea. Grantaire merely giggled at his response.

“No, it’s not, it’s genius”, he retorted. “But that’s fine, though. I get it. Taking things slow. Being casual. That’s cool. Cool, cool, cool. Absolutely fine by me. Sorry for crossing a line”, he shrugged, trying to sound casual, and Enjolras sighed. He was once again taken aback by Grantaire’s ability of guessing exactly what he was thinking, but then maybe he was just extremely expressive and incapable of hiding his emotions. Enjolras immediately decided against this second option because: 1. That would mean he is a terrible agent, which he knew was not the case, and 2. Courfeyrac always complained about him being too cold and stoic. Maybe Grantaire had just been born with this uncanny ability to read Enjolras, and the thought that Grantaire had been destined to match him made Enjolras blush slightly. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to reassure Grantaire that no, Enjolras wasn’t turning him out, but that he didn’t want to go so fast as well.

“I just don’t want to rush things”, Enjolras said after a few moments of silence as they walked side by side. The streets were growing more deserted as they approached Grantaire’s neighborhood, and Enjolras’ agent senses were on full alert. “We’ll have plenty of time to do that. Plus, I’ll have to see if your art is good first, before I decide whether or not I’ll want to invest on this relationship. No one wants to date a lousy artist”, he jested, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ooh, we’re calling this a relationship now, are we?”, Grantaire teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Enjolras figured Courfeyrac would probably love Grantaire, once they met. Except introducing his secret agent partner to Grantaire would be a definitely lousy idea, and it would probably expose all three of them. It was a shame that Courfeyrac wouldn’t be able to meet Grantaire, though. They might have gotten along well.

“If that’s what you want”, Enjolras replied, doing his best to sound nonchalant, even though the whole labeling things was not a territory he wanted to enter right on that moment.

“No need to get all defensive, I’m just messing with you”, Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately. “We don’t really need to call it anything, unless you want to. You don’t seem to be the kind of guy that enjoys labeling things”, he shrugged. “Oh, this is me, by the way”, he said, halting his walk into a stop. Enjolras studied the building they had stopped in front of. It was a simple three story building, that looked a little bit too old and a little bit too dirty. The walls were in urgent need for a repaint, the blue which once had vividly colored it having faded into a pale, faint version of itself due to the constant sunlight and rain. The building wasn’t exactly falling into pieces, but a renovation wouldn’t go amiss. Of course, bringing that up to Grantaire would be rude, but complimenting the building would be fake and Grantaire would definitely see right through him. Enjolras decided not to approach the subject altogether.

“You don’t live as far away as I had imagined”, Enjolras commented simply, enjoying the pleasant teasing they had fallen into, and taking in the melancholic warm air of the afternoon, which contrasted thoroughly with the weather from the night he had first met Grantaire.

“Nah, I was just trying to talk you out of walking me home”, Grantaire shrugged, fishing for his keys inside his pocket and fidgeting with them once he found them, rather than using them to open the front door of the building.

“Why?”, Enjolras frowned.

“Now you’ll have to walk all the way back to god-knows-where, all by yourself”, Grantaire said with an apologetic look.

“I can take care of myself”, Enjolras protested with a huff of breath, offended that Grantaire would think otherwise. “Plus, you don’t live that far away from the Musain”.

“I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself; I just find it extremely impolite of me to have you walk all the way back home alone”, Grantaire smiled crookedly, with something akin to admiration in his eyes as he stared down at Enjolras.

“Don’t worry about it”, Enjolras dismissed him with a shake of his head. “It’s ok. I’ll text you when I get home, if that would make you feel better”.

“Yeah, that would”, Grantaire said, smiling and nodding slightly. He kept his head bowed for a few instants, and an awkward silence fell between them. Before it could stretch further, Grantaire broke it. “Now is that part of the date where I tell you I had a really great day and that I hope I’ll see you again some time soon, and then you say you had a great day too and give me a kiss on the cheek before you take off, then I stare at your disappearing form dreamily and finally open the door with the key I’ve been holding for the past five minutes”.

“That was… very specific”, Enjolras commented with a bit of confusion and a genuine smile. Grantaire seemed to have a talent for endearing Enjolras with his sense of humor.

“I’m just trying to help a buddy out, since you look like you don’t know what you’re supposed to do”, Grantaire shrugged, smiling back. “So here we go. I had a really great day. And I actually mean that, I’m not just saying it because it’s common courtesy”, he disclaimed.

“I had a great day too”, Enjolras replied. “And I also _mean_ that”, he mimicked Grantaire. They chuckled. And then, following Grantaire’s instructions, Enjolras leaned forward to drop a kiss on his cheek.

But Grantaire was so close, the heat of his skin drawing Enjolras closer to him like a magnet, and before he could think better, his instincts had taken over and he was face to face with Grantaire. Enjolras was slightly shorter than Grantaire, not too much that the difference was too noticeable, but enough to make his lips find the corner of Grantaire’s, rather than his cheek. He stared up at Grantaire’s greyish eyes, as if requesting for permission, and found them staring down at him drooped, almost dreamingly. Grantaire took Enjolras’ request as an indication and the agent could feel a hand pressing on his lower back, pulling him closer to Grantaire until they were glued together and he could feel Grantaire’s warmth seeping into his clothes. Grantaire tilted his head and Enjolras allowed his own lips to find Grantaire’s, ever so slightly, softly as a breeze. It was Grantaire who pressed his lips against Enjolras’ slowly, carefully, until they were properly kissing, one of Grantaire’s hands pressing on Enjolras’ lower back and the other cradling Enjolras head, fingers tangled in his curls as he caressed Enjolras’ hair while they kissed. Enjolras, not knowing what to do with his hands, allowed them to rest on either of Grantaire’s hips, for support as much as for closeness. The kiss went on for a few moments that felt like an eternity, until Enjolras was finally the one to part for breath, red on the face and completely baffled by finally being kissed for the first time in his life.

Grantaire stared at him with a look that much mimicked Enjolras’: face flushed and eyes wide with blown pupils; lips parted in awe and content as if he had never imagined kissing Enjolras would feel so good. As he looked at Grantaire’s face, Enjolras knew that there could be no doubt of how much Grantaire had enjoyed that, and if Enjolras was to be honest with himself, he had very much enjoyed the kiss as well. Maybe this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he convinced himself to take things slowly with Grantaire, but on his defense, this wasn’t taking things too far as well. They had just kissed. This was normal on a second date, right? Plus, it didn’t mean that he didn’t want to get to know Grantaire better before he dove in head first into this relationship. They were just trying things out. That was how relationships of any kind worked, right? Getting to know a person well before rushing into things.

“Are you ok?”, Grantaire asked, the hint of a frown on his brow. Enjolras subconsciously frowned back.

“Yeah, why?”, he asked, curious.

“You look a bit serious”, Grantaire explained with an expression that meant to be dismissing, but Enjolras could see that there was a level of concern behind it.

“It’s just my face”, Enjolras explained with a smile. “I always look serious”.

“Can’t say that’s a lie”, Grantaire smirked, not letting go of Enjolras. They still stood in front of Grantaire’s apartment building, hugging, Enjolras’ hands on Grantaire’s hips and Grantaire’s hands on Enjolras’ lower back. It felt comfortable, and for once, Enjolras didn’t feel the urge to run away without looking back, but was rather pleased to stay there in Grantaire’s arms, even though they were in public. “You look beautiful on those rare moments you smile, though”, Grantaire added, placing a quick kiss on Enjolras’ forehead.

“They aren’t _that_ rare”, Enjolras protested, frowning, which only made Grantaire smile.

“You usually look more grumpy than anything”, Grantaire pointed out with a challenging raised eyebrow. Enjolras scoffed, and then forced himself to smile.

“That’s not true. I’m smiling right now, see?”, he said, sounding purposefully obnoxious.

“That’s not the same. Your sincere smile is way more beautiful”, Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras closer and holding him in an embrace. “I know you want to take things slowly, but wouldn’t you like to come in? We could just sit around and watch Scarface, since you’re such a little poser who googles movie synopsis instead of actually watching them”, he teased, which made Enjolras roll his eyes affectionately. He wasn’t sure of how he felt about going into Grantaire’s apartment on the second time ever they saw each other, and his hesitance was sign enough that this wasn’t a good idea.

“Can we leave this for another day?”, Enjolras suggested, not wanting to lie his way out of this or make up excuses to leave. If he was to be in a relationship, then honesty had to be the first priority.

“Sure”, Grantaire nodded, not sounding resentful or upset, but very accepting. Enjolras felt relieved by that. “Will you text me when you get home?”, he asked, loosening his hold on Enjolras so that he could put distance between them if he wanted. Enjolras did let go of Grantaire, but he lingered by the man, pleased by the remaining contact of their skins.

“Of course”, Enjolras nodded, smiling up at Grantaire. “Be safe, ok?”

“As safe as I can be”, Grantaire winked at him, finally placing the key into the locker of his building’s door.

“See you”, Enjolras said, leaning forwards to drop a kiss against Grantaire’s cheek and finally getting it right this time. Grantaire chuckled, returning the kiss.

“See you”, he said, dreamily, and Enjolras turned on his heels to walk back to his own place. He missed the way Grantaire glanced upon him, lovingly, until Enjolras’ form disappeared as he turned on a corner.

He also missed the man staring at them from inside the car parked on the other side of the street.


	3. III

Returning to work after his one-week break ended felt like removing a weight from his shoulders, and Enjolras rejoiced as he stepped back into the office he had missed so much at 6 a.m. sharp. Everything there seemed perfectly normal and exactly the same, even though not that many people had arrived yet. He could see Lamarque was already there, because the lights in his office were on, and he could hear Courfeyrac’s voice coming from the break room, too loud and enthusiastic for that hour in the morning. Enjolras tried to pay no mind to that as he took his much missed place on his working desk, which remained exactly as he had left it, if not a little bit dusty. He noticed there was a post-it note glued to the screen of his computer, which read “I’m glad you’re back! Missed my best friend ;)”. Enjolras recognized that as Courfeyrac’s handwriting and a deep sense of affection blossomed warmly in his chest. Enjolras picked the note and placed it on his desk drawer, turning the computer on. He wasn’t sure whether he should go let Lamarque know he was back or not, and since his pride was still slightly hurt by his boss, he decided against it and instead thought it would be better to try and find out whether he had any new leads to work on the Patron-Minette case.

Enjolras had grown unused to waking up so early, since he had spent a whole week waking up at whatever time he pleased. At first, he had tried to keep a regular sleeping schedule _precisely_ so that he wouldn’t grow too unused to waking up that early in the morning, but he soon found out the reason that idea wouldn’t work. Enjolras would never admit it to _anyone_ , not even Courf, but two days into his time off from work, he found out exactly just how _tired_ he was. As soon as he got home from the second date with Grantaire and texted him to let him know he was safe, Enjolras dropped face first on his couch and slept for the remaining of the day. When he woke up, it was 3 a.m., his head was aching from dehydration, his stomach was rumbling from hunger and there were 3 missed calls from Courfeyrac on his phone. The same happened on the following day, when he dozed off while writing new texts for his blog and woke up hours past lunch time. Enjolras soon found himself trapped in a chaotic sleeping schedule that happened randomly and differently every day, making him wake up with a sore neck and an achy head every time. He soon gave up on trying to get anything productive done and finally acknowledged the deep need he had for rest, which was what he focused on during the remaining of his time off. He ended up not seeing Grantaire during the rest of the week, since the man was also busy trying to finish his paintings for the gallery opening at last minute’s notice. The only contact they had after their kiss was through texting and phone calls, and Enjolras didn’t want to think about what that sudden distance meant, so he didn’t. it didn’t exactly make him feel uncomfortable, since Grantaire and he had been very clear and honest to each other so far, but at the same time, not seeing the man made his chest feel oddly… smothered. And now that he was back at work, he would be a lot busier, which meant that seeing Grantaire would be even more difficult. He tried to ignore the knot that appeared in his throat at the thought, even though he didn’t entirely understand why it was there.

As his computer was still getting started, Enjolras decided it wouldn’t hurt to grab himself a mug of coffee on the break room. Lamarque had complained about his addiction to caffeine on the day he dismissed him for the week, but Enjolras wouldn’t be able to function properly without it, at least not until he got his sleeping schedule back on tracks. As he entered the room, he found Courfeyrac, Le Cabuc and three other agents whose names he didn’t remember sitting there and chatting idly. Courfeyrac squealed in excitement when he spotted Enjolras entering the room, and started clapping, to which everyone else clapped as well.

“Just look at him!”, Courfeyrac exclaimed and Enjolras smiled as he made his way to the coffee machine. “Doesn’t he look healthier?”, he asked, to which the agents in the room nodded and muttered in agreement.

“Man, I wish Lamarque would give _me_ a time off”, Le Cabuc commented, nodding at Enjolras, and Courfeyrac nodded in agreement. “I could really use a break. What did you do while you were away, man?”, he asked curiously.

“Wrote to my blog”, Enjolras said with disinterest, placing a cup on the machine and waiting for the coffee to get ready. He wasn’t exactly a great fan of engaging into small talk, but most of all, he hated engaging into small talk at _work_. What was the point of having a conversation that was meaningless and unproductive, whose only meaning was to fill social gaps? Enjolras didn’t feel comfortable sharing unnecessary detail about his life with people who barely knew him, and plus, there was something about Le Cabuc that made him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t exactly figure out what it was. Maybe he was just a bit jealous of the intimacy he seemed to have developed with Courfeyrac, especially because Le Cabuc had _just_ thrown an arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulders as they watched Enjolras grab his coffee.

“Is it that social justice blog you run on gay rights and that sort of stuff?”, Le Cabuc asked, but Enjolras had a feeling that he wasn’t exactly interested in the subject. There wasn’t exactly mockery in his tone, but some sort of irreverence that made Enjolras want to cringe.

“Yes, that’s the one”, Enjolras turned to him, taking a sip of his coffee, even though it was burning hot. His face didn’t falter as he stared up at Le Cabuc, almost challenging him to criticize his blog or his hobbies. Something about the look in Enjolras’ eyes made Le Cabuc stand down from whatever comment he was about to make.

“Man, you’re such a nerd”, he giggled instead, letting go of Courfeyrac, who seemed a bit uncomfortable at his friend’s behavior. The other agents watched nervously, probably afraid of the way Enjolras was downing boiling-hot coffee like it was a glass of water and glaring at Le Cabuc. “You spent your one-week break writing to a blog? I would have taken that time to travel somewhere and hook up with some hoes. Isn’t that right, Courfeyrac?”, he laughed and nudged Courfeyrac with his elbow.

“That’s disrespectful, man”, Courfeyrac reprimanded in a serious tone, to which Le Cabuc rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “We’re in the 21st century; stop objectifying women”.

Enjolras smiled proudly at his best friend and gave Le Cabuc a displeased look before turning to make himself another coffee. His first one was finished already.

“You’re taking two coffees?”, Courfeyrac asked, walking over to Enjolras as Le Cabuc sat on the break room table with the other agents and started telling some tale about his latest date.

“It’s the only way I’ll remain awake”, Enjolras explained. “This one week away messed up my inner watch”.

“Well, that’s a huge bummer for Lamarque”, Courfeyrac smirked, leaning his back on the table as he accompanied Enjolras in his wait for the coffee to get ready. “One of the reasons he gave you this time off was to make you rest and maybe get you rid of this caffeine addiction”.

“I’m not addicted”, Enjolras huffed. “I could stop drinking it if I wanted to. Plus, who gets rid of an addiction in one week?”, he narrowed his eyes.

“Sure you could”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you prove me wrong and stop drinking it right now?”, he challenged. Enjolras glared at his friend from the corner of his eyes for some instants, weighting his options, before he decided to take his coffee from the machine and drink it anyway. Courfeyrac was just teasing him, he knew that, and it would be better to be laughed at by his best friend than to end up falling asleep at his working desk on his first day back from his break. He wouldn’t want to give Lamarque any further reason to keep him away from work any longer.

Now that he had his coffee in hands, Enjolras had no excuse to remain at the break room. Though it was still too early, he wanted to get back to his work as soon as possible. There had to be something new on the Patron-Minette case, something he could investigate or work on. Courfeyrac had yet to give him a debrief on the informant’s case, since all the intel Enjolras had managed to get out of him was plain and unsatisfactory. As he stepped out of the break room towards his desk, Enjolras could hear Courfeyrac following him and ranting non-stop about something that Enjolras didn’t exactly want to pay attention to. He loved Courfeyrac like a brother, and he knew his friend was probably feeling the need to make sure that Enjolras caught up with every single thing that had happened in the ABC while he was away for the week. But on that moment, Enjolras had work to do, and he wanted to get to it as soon as possible to make sure he was back at his usual level of proficiency. He didn’t have it in his heart to cut Courfeyrac’s excited rant off, though, so Enjolras merely allowed his friend to follow him and lean on his desk while he opened the digital case files on his computer. He was so focused on pretending he was paying attention on Courfeyrac and reading the files at the same time that it took him longer than it should have to notice Lamarque was standing right behind him. In fact, it was Courfeyrac’s abrupt silence that caught his attention enough to make him raise his head, looking around in confusion for a few moments before sensing a presence behind his rolling chair. Enjolras turned around, a resigned look on his face. He was aware that he should have gone straight to Lamarque’s office as soon as he returned, but his resentment had prevented him from doing so. His boss was staring down at him with a raised eyebrow and a questioning look, and Enjolras desperately wished he could help but to feel inappropriate, but he couldn’t. However, he continued to stare up at Lamarque defiantly, not wanted to give in to the older man’s glare. He suddenly felt like a stubborn child, but suppressed the urge to lower his gaze.

“I see you have returned from your break”, Lamarque commented, sounding stoic. “How was it?”

“Unproductive”, Enjolras replied simply, mimicking Lamarque’s stoicism. Lamarque’s face remained impassive, but Enjolras could notice a twitch on his left eye.

“Did you manage to get some sleep?”, Lamarque asked, crossing both arms above his chest. It took all of Enjolras’ will not to roll his eyes at the question.

“Yes”, he said dryly. “Plenty”.

“Then why do you have coffee on your desk?”, Lamarque asked matter-of-factly. Enjolras scowled.

“Because I like the taste”, he said dismissively.

“Nobody drinks coffee for the taste, Enjolras”, Courfeyrac stepped in, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in a way that was too similar to Lamarque. Enjolras suddenly felt cornered, as if both the people who he trusted the most were turning against him all of a sudden.

“I do”, he responded, but it sounded weak to his own ears. “And even if I didn’t, I don’t see how either of you have anything to do with my coffee”.

Lamarque sighed heavily, giving up on trying to get through Enjolras’ stubbornness.

“I want to speak with you”, he stated simply. “In my office”.

Enjolras exchanged a glance with Courfeyrac, who looked like he was controlling himself not to burst into laughter and tease Enjolras like a middle-schooler. Lamarque didn’t wait for a response and merely turned on his heels to walk back into his office, trusting that Enjolras would be professional enough to follow him. After staring at Courfeyrac for a few more moments, as if hoping that his friend would be able to explain or at least give him a clue as to what Lamarque wanted to talk about, Enjolras turned off the screen of his monitor and stood up, following Lamarque. Courfeyrac gave him an apologetic smile and a pair of encouraging thumbs up before Enjolras turned his back and stepped inside Lamarque’s office, closing the door behind him. His boss had his back turned to him and his arms were still crossed as he stared pensively at the wall in front of him. It took him a while to finally address Enjolras.

“You were supposed to come talk to me as soon as you arrived at the precinct”, Lamarque explained, not turning to face Enjolras, who lowered his head in an attempt to hide his annoyance.

“I wanted to get straight back to work”, Enjolras explained, trying to sound as respectful as he should. “Make up for the lost time”.

Lamarque sighed again at this, and his shoulders dropped along with his stiff arms, in a defeated manner. He sat at his chair and finally met Enjolras’ eyes, something akin to disappointment in his expression as he studied Enjolras from head to toe.

“You look better”, he commented. “More well-rested. Did you really manage to catch some sleep?”

“Yes, during the excruciating hours I spent at home doing nothing”, Enjolras responded bitterly. Lamarque didn’t show any reaction to his insolence as he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a file.

“Good. Since you’ve recharged your batteries and you’re so eager to return to work, you can do this for me”, Lamarque said, dropping the file on his desk in front of Enjolras nonchalantly. Enjolras blinked at Lamarque for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether his boss was being serious or if this was some sort of trick to get back at Enjolras. As Lamarque stared back at him with a raised eyebrow, Enjolras decided to pick up the file and open it, finding several pictures of a woman in her 50’s walking out of the City Hall. The pictures had clearly been taken without her knowledge, and she seemed to be speaking with someone on the phone as she walked. There were also several pages of text, and what seemed to be a transcript beneath the photographs.

“What is this?”, Enjolras asked, frowning and going through the pages.

“The woman on the picture is called Madame Victurnien”, Lamarque explained. “She is the personal assistant to the mayor”.

“That doesn’t tell me much”, Enjolras commented, running his eyes through the transcript. It seemed to be a conversation between Victurnien and an unknown person about a meeting.

“We have reason to believe that the mayor has a deal with the Patron-Minette that illegally allows them to do traffic inside the city as long as they pay him a fee”, Lamarque said. This caught Enjolras’ attention enough for him to raise his head from the file and stare at his boss, startled. “Le Cabuc managed to tag Victurnien’s phone last week while you were away, but he probably didn’t do it correctly because we lost audio after she received one single phone call, which is the one you have there on the file. We didn’t know who it was to, but they set up a meeting for today, during her lunch break. I want you and Courfeyrac to go look into it”.

“You want us to just watch her?”, Enjolras asked, closing the file.

“I want you to see who she’ll meet, what they will talk about, take pictures and capture audio. Full surveillance”, Lamarque instructed. “You know the drill, be discreet about it. After you’re done, bring the intel back to me. We’ll see how to proceed from there”.

“All right”, Enjolras nodded in agreement, placing the file beneath his armpit. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Not for the time being”, Lamarque said dismissively, already picking up some other files and going through them himself. “We’re not hoping for anything compromising just yet, just a lead. There was nothing that could be used to incriminate the mayor on the audio we managed to capture, and there probably won’t be in this meeting either, but there’s always a chance. We’ve been stuck in a dead end for too long and I want to grab a hold of any possible lead I can find, you understand?”, he asked with a patient look.

“Yes”, Enjolras nodded solemnly.

“Good. Get to work, then”, he instructed. Enjolras nodded again and was ready to leave when Lamarque stopped him: “Oh, and Enjolras. It’s good to have you back”.

All the resentment Enjolras had been bottling up towards Lamarque seemed to fade away at those words, and as he turned to look at his boss, there was a subtle smile on his face. Lamarque’s words had been genuine and there was a light, pleased smile on the older man’s face as he nodded his dismissal at Enjolras.

“It’s good to be back”, Enjolras said before leaving the office.

 

 

“I can’t believe we’re already going on a mission on your first day back!”, Courfeyrac exclaimed for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Enjolras had been extremely happy at his friend’s enthusiasm at first, but now he was growing tired of hearing the same phrase over and over again.

“Yes, Courf, you’ve already said that”, Enjolras sighed, but he couldn’t help but to smile tiredly at his best friend, who was sat beside him on the passenger seat of the car.

“It’s just that I missed you so much”, Courfeyrac sighed dreamily as he leaned his head on Enjolras’ shoulder in a position that couldn’t _possibly_ be comfortable. “I didn’t want to say anything because you were already grumpy about being away and I didn’t want to encourage you to come back to work sooner than you should. You really needed this break, you know? But now that you’re back I’m _so glad_. I couldn’t stand having Le Cabuc as my partner anymore. He’s so _boring,_ Enjolras. All he does is talk misogynistic bullshit all the time and he can’t shut up about beer. I mean, I _like_ beer, but not enough to talk about it all the time, you know? And this probably sounds like me exaggerating, but I swear to god it isn’t. I couldn’t give the guy a breech and he’d talk about beer non-stop. It was driving me crazy”.

 “I thought you liked Le Cabuc”, Enjolras chuckled curiously. Deep down, he was relieved to know that Courfeyrac didn’t prefer Le Cabuc’s company to his.

“Ah, I like him”, Courfeyrac shrugged, leaning away from Enjolras and straightening himself on his seat. “He’s a cool guy, despite of all the misogyny and the brute persona. But I had never spent so much time with him in a row, and don’t get me wrong, but I don’t plan on doing it any more than I already have. Please, don’t leave me again, Enjolras”, Courfeyrac begged over-dramatically, clinging to Enjolras’ arm and burying his face on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“You were the one who supported Lamarque on making me leave”, Enjolras pointed out bitterly, but he was still smiling.

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, leaning back from him again. “You needed that rest and you know it. Don’t even try to pretend that you don’t feel better, because I can see right through you. You’re even looking younger”, he commented, to what Enjolras snapped his head at him, indignant.

“Why do people keep saying that?”, Enjolras protested. “It’s not like I looked _old_ before”.

“Enjolras, dear, this is not the time to be narcissistic; we’re in the middle of a stakeout here”, Courfeyrac teased obnoxiously, pulling his binoculars from his bag and observing the building in front of them. It was an old residential building downtown, which seemed to have been abandoned for a few months now. The phone call the ABC had managed to intercept said that Victurnien was to meet someone in front of that building at her lunchbreak, which was to happen in about twenty minutes. Enjolras had already placed bugs all over the place so that they could hear the conversation, and he and Courfeyrac had cameras ready to photograph the meeting. Their car had insulfilm on the windows and it was parked in a strategic position that prevented them from being seen from the street. The car was an old thing that looked more abandoned than functional, and fit very well with the building in front of them. All they needed to do was to wait for Victurnien and her informant to arrive and capture their conversation.

“You’re the one who started on this subject”, Enjolras huffed out a breath, but Courfeyrac merely giggled.

“I’m just messing with you. But you _do_ look younger, and no, that doesn’t mean you looked old before. Who said you looked old? Was it Floreal?”, Courfeyrac asked curiously.

“She didn’t _say_ it, but she didn’t deny it either”, Enjolras explained grumpily. His phone pinged with a text, and he fished it out of his pocket to find that it was from Grantaire.

**hey ;-) wyd today?**

“Ooh, is it Grantaire?”, Courfeyrac asked, leaning into Enjolras’ personal space to try and read the text he had received. Enjolras instinctively withdrew the phone, protecting the screen from Courfeyrac’s view. “Ok, so it’s definitely Grantaire”, he rolled his eyes as Enjolras typed down a response as far away as he physically could from Courfeyrac. “Why don’t you want to let me read it? Is it a sext?”, he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Enjolras.

“Of course not”, Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want you meddling in my relationship, that’s all”. He finished typing down the text and locked the phone, putting it away.

**I’m at work. What about you?**

“You guys are already in the relationship level, huh?”, Courfeyrac teased with a shit-eating grin.

“None of us find a problem in calling it a relationship”, Enjolras replied defensively.

“Aw, that’s so cute. When are you changing your Facebook status?”, Courfeyrac leaned back against his seat, placing his feet on the dashboard of the car. Enjolras rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment on it, knowing it would be useless to argue.

“You know very well I don’t use Facebook”, Enjolras huffed. His phone pinged with three new texts.

**just finished the last painting (finally)**

**i’m FREE, ange**

**now everythings ready for my expo. will u be there? ;-)**

Enjolras couldn’t help but to smile at the messages, well aware that Courfeyrac would tease him for that. He didn’t really mind at that moment.

**Of course. This Saturday at 8 p.m., right?**

“I’m glad you found this guy”, Courfeyrac commented, and Enjolras eyed him curiously. Courfeyrac was staring down at him with something akin to pride in his eyes and a deep, warm affection that infected Enjolras and made his heart feel big and full. “You look happier”.

Enjolras lowered his eyes in embarrassment at this, not sure of how to respond to Courfeyrac’s compliment. People kept commenting on how his appearance had changed and how healthier he looked. He didn’t understand. To him, he felt and looked just the same as before, if only a bit better rested because of the week he had been forced to stay at home. He didn’t understand how Grantaire could have affected him in so little time, but Courfeyrac hadn’t been the first one to comment on it. Perhaps finding someone to spend time with romantically was good for him, after all, even if this relationship was doomed to grow more complicated overtime. Enjolras couldn’t keep his true profession away from Grantaire if he wanted to be in a healthy, honest relationship, but on the other hand, telling Grantaire would be committing treason against the ABC. Eventually, Enjolras would be forced to choose between his boyfriend and his job, and he didn’t exactly want to think about that right now. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Live one day at the time. He could think about the impending doom that was to fall upon his relationship later, when he had finished doing his job. He didn’t notice the way his lips fell to form a sad expression, as much as he was trying to suppress his feelings.

“Keep your eyes on the building”, Enjolras said simply, avoiding the subject altogether. Courfeyrac must have noticed the shift in his expression and decided not to push on the subject, doing as Enjolras had told him. Another text reached Enjolras’ phone.

**thats right ;-) cant wait to see u its been a long time**

Enjolras was about to text Grantaire back when Courfeyrac nudged his arm, calling his attention. Enjolras looked up from the phone to see a woman – Victurnien – walking with hurry into the street and looking over her shoulder as if to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Enjolras put his phone back into his pocket and watched attentively while Courfeyrac snapped pictures of the woman, who was now standing in front of the abandoned building and looking around with anxiety painted all over her face. It didn’t take too long for the person she was meeting to arrive.

The man was tall, languid and in his mid-fifties. His arms and legs were long, his face was covered by a thick brunette beard and he was dressed in a fashion manner that seemed to be too juvenile for his age. Dark jeans with a discreet dark-purple button shirt covered his frame, along with combat boots and a waistcoat that would have ended up giving him the unavoidable look of a hipster, were it not for his unruly hair that fell all the way to his shoulders and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in at least a year. The first word that came to Enjolras’ mind as soon as he saw this man was “filthy”, because that was how he looked like: despite the obvious freshness of his clothes, everything else about him screamed foulness. Enjolras subconsciously scrunched up his nose, placing on his headphones so that he could listen to their conversation while Courfeyrac continued to snap several pictures. Enjolras made sure that the device was set up to record everything the bugs caught before turning his eyes back to the encounter on the opposite side of the street.

“Jondrette”, Victurnien greeted, though she looked as displeased and disgusted as Enjolras felt. She scowled at the man in front of her, making it look like he reeked. Jondrette smiled at her, exposing his yellowish teeth even though the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes. Enjolras asserted their surroundings, and it seemed like Jondrette was alone.

“Are you alone?”, he asked, voice rough, without bothering to greet her. The woman nervously flashed a look over her shoulders, as if afraid that someone had showed up at the street without her knowing, but there was no one there.

“Yes”, she said, tilting her chin up as if trying to impose respect. “Are you?”, she raised an eyebrow, trying to look over Jondrette’s shoulder, but Enjolras could tell how nervous she was from the other side of the street. Jondrette seemed to sense her fear as well, because he smiled again.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I come alone to the meeting with the office hussy?”, he mocked, and a flush of shame raised to Victurnien’s cheeks. “Is there anything I should be worried about? Any of the mayor’s buddies about to jump on me from the shadows?”, he said, but there was a dangerous hint of seriousness in his voice.

“Quit beating around the bush”, Victurnien hissed, taking a step closer to Jondrette in what looked to be like a sudden burst of courage. She looked offended and indignant, and Enjolras couldn’t really judge her. “The mayor doesn’t know why you requested this meeting, but I, for one, am eager to find out. What do you want?”, she asked with disgust.

“You know what I want”, he smirked in a way that made Enjolras’ stomach churn. “And he knows what I want. Otherwise he would have sent one of his henchmen to meet me, and not the pet-whore he calls an assistant”.

“No wonder your breath stinks, since all that comes out of your mouth is bullshit”, Victurnien spat out, and the shit-eating grin that had been coloring Jondrette’s face immediately fell. Enjolras worried that he was about to choke her to death right then and there, since the look on his face made it look like that was the exact thought crossing his mind, but instead he dropped his relaxed manner and assumed a more inquiring posture. Victurnien visibly shivered.

“You know, the little deal we have with the mayor is supposed to be productive to both ends”, he said, in what seemed to be his business voice. “But recently, we have been finding ourselves in a bit of a situation. There’s someone investigating us”.

Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat, but his face remained as impassive as ever. Courfeyrac stiffened on the passenger seat beside him.

“Who?”, Victurnien asked, frowning.

“Well, dolly, I was hoping that you could tell me that”, Jondrette took a step closer to her, entering her personal space. Even though the woman was dirty and was clearly involved in the drug-agreement with the Patron-Minette, Enjolras felt the urge to step out of the car and protect her from the vile man Jondrette seemed to be. “You see, more than once my guys have found themselves being cornered or photographed or followed by people who looked like civilians, but most definitely weren’t”, he continued, standing so close to Victurnien that her face had gone pale. “We even had one of our own turn against us and try to spill our secrets when one of our deals went wrong. We had to take care of him”, he smiled, and Courfeyrac’ jaw tightened as he remembered the body of the informant lying abandoned in a dumpster. “But this all just makes me wonder what’s the mayor’s part in all of this”.

“Wake up, Jondrette”, Victurnien scoffed, sounding braver than she looked. “He would have arrested you and your gang long ago if he…”, she trailed off, looking disturbed. Jondrette’s smile widened. “He isn’t investigating you. Whoever is doing this has nothing to do with him or the government”.

“How can you be so sure?”, Jondrette pressured.

“Because he would never _risk her life_ ”, Victurnien half-shouted, half-whispered. Jondrette didn’t look satisfied. Courfeyrac turned his head to send Enjolras a worried look, to which Enjolras didn’t respond, focusing on the conversation. “Whatever is going on has nothing to do with him or with any of us”.

“So you surely wouldn’t mind if I told my guys to kill off whoever it is trying to set us up?”, Jondrette asked, looking very pleased with himself. Victurnien’s jaw tightened, but after a couple of seconds, she nodded.

“As long as you don’t involve Monsieur Le Maire in any of this, then do whatever you want”, Victurnien said, certain of herself. Her hands had clenched into fists and even though she still looked very much afraid, there was some sort of defiance in her eyes that made Jondrette take one final step into her personal space.

“If you’re lying to me”, he whispered, and there was so much poison and menace in his tone that Victurnien visibly flinched. “The girl’s the one who’ll pay the price. God knows how eager I am to shut that useless brat up”.

Victurnien swallowed dry, but continued to stare up at Jondrette.

“We aren’t lying”, she said, struggling to keep her voice firm. “The former mayor might have been a rat like you, and god knows I’m not a saint myself, but Madeleine isn’t like us. He wouldn’t risk her life by lying to a man such as yourself”.

“I’m glad he knows that”, Jondrette smiled, stepping back. He shoved his hand in his pants’ pocket to retrieve something and Victurnien stiffened, eyes going wide. However, the only thing Jondrette retrieved was a piece of folded cloth that seemed to have something fluffy inside. “Here”, he handed the cloth to Victurnien, who held it with shaking hands. “Make sure you give this to him as a reminder to keep away from my business, eh?”

Victurnien stared with wide eyes and a quivering lip as Jondrette turned on his heels and unceremoniously walked away, not bothering to stay behind and see her reaction as she unfolded the cloth to gaze at its contents. She raised a trembling hand to cover her mouth, looking more troubled and guilty than shocked, and all Enjolras managed to see was a flash of an auburn lock of hair before Victurnien was turning on her heels and fleeing from the street, carrying the hair with her. He removed his headphones and stared blankly ahead, at the place where Victurnien had been standing with Jondrette less than a minute ago. Courfeyrac put down his camera, having captured pictures of the entirety of the meeting, and he looked as troubled as Enjolras felt.

“We have to report this to Lamarque”, Enjolras said, after what felt like an eternity of thick, tense silence inside the car. “We got this all wrong”.

“Jesus”, Courfeyrac whispered, sounding horrified. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but I would have preferred if Mayor Madeleine was just a dick”, he admitted.

“Me too”, Enjolras couldn’t deny it.

“They have a _hostage_ , Enjolras”, Courfeyrac continued, troubled. “That’s why Madeleine allows them to drug deal without doing anything about it. Do you think it’s his daughter?”

“We can’t jump to conclusions”, Enjolras said, turning his head to look at his friend. “We have to get back to the office and talk to Lamarque. This is more intel than we gathered in the past months. This… we have to dig into this”, he shook his head slightly.

“God”, Courfeyrac sighed, leaning his head back against the rest and staring blankly ahead. “Everyone in the ABC is going to lose their collective shit”.

“I’m going to retrieve the bugs”, Enjolras announced, placing his headphones and the recording device at Courfeyrac’s lap. “Keep an eye out for me”.

Enjolras crossed the street with full attention to his surroundings, making sure that he wasn’t being watched or followed. In the process of retrieving all the bugs he had carefully placed in the scene, he found two single strands of auburn hair fallen on the floor, which had probably slipped from Victurnien’s hands when she turned to leave. He gathered the hairs, handing them carefully and intending to take them back to the ABC’s lab. Maybe this way they could find out if the Patron-Minette’s hostage was actually the mayor’s daughter, or someone else. There were too many new questions that needed to be answered in the light of the new discoveries that Courfeyrac and Enjolras had made on that afternoon, and new intel that needed to be worked on. Maybe Victurnien was saying the truth and Mayor Madeline wasn’t a rat, but just a father whose daughter had been kidnapped. Maybe she had been lying and they were all involved and benefitting from Patron-Minette’s criminal activities. Either way, there was only one thing that Enjolras knew for certain – Jondrette wasn’t innocent.

And he would be damned if he didn’t arrest that bastard before he could hurt more people.

 

 

 

Enjolras wasn’t sure of which clothes would be appropriate to wear at a gallery opening, but figured that a tuxedo couldn’t hurt. Talking to Courfeyrac on the phone didn’t exactly help – as much as his best friend loved talking about fashion, he wouldn’t stop asking personal questions about Grantaire, such as his zodiac, his age, his height, his favorite ice cream flavor and whether he was a top or a bottom. It was when Courfeyrac asked what Grantaire tasted like that Enjolras finally hung up the phone, leaving his friend’s question unanswered.

He could understand Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm about Enjolras’ newfound… _boyfriend_ , and he couldn’t really judge him for asking so many personal questions. Courfeyrac was an easily-excitable person by nature, and he liked people too easily. He didn’t even know Grantaire, but he had spent almost ten minutes straight telling Enjolras how happy he was for him and how much he loved “this Grantaire guy for making you finally step out of your cocoon like a caterpillar that has matured from the socially-awkward, virgin nerd to become a beautiful, gay, artist-banging butterfly”. Enjolras had wanted to hang up right then and there, but he had still needed tips on what to wear.

He ended up deciding to ask Grantaire himself whether or not a tuxedo was appropriate for the occasion, and his text was replied to in less than five minutes with a:

**yes sure ;-) but dont discard the possibility that ill die as soon as i see u tho**

Enjolras rolled his eyes and told himself he wasn’t secretly pleased that Grantaire found him so attractive.

He couldn’t tell why, but he was feeling slightly nervous as he arrived at the gallery. The place was actually very close to his home, merely two blocks away, and even though it wasn’t a big or renowned gallery, it was still a big deal to have your art displayed there. Enjolras was trained to read people, and so he could tell that Grantaire was very nervous about the exposition, even though he was trying to play it cool. But Enjolras was completely taken by surprise when, as soon as he entered the gallery, it was Grantaire who baffled him, and not his art.

Grantaire was… well, he was _beautiful_. His hair was neatly washed and brushed back in a set that Enjolras had never seen in him before, and it looked like he had used gel to keep the usually unruly curls down. He was also wearing a tuxedo that fit his body perfectly, outlining his arms and his torso in a way that Enjolras had never been able to notice before, with his baggy hoodies and lose T-shirts. The dark-green tie around his neck matched his look and his eyes perfectly, and despite of the bags beneath his eyes – Enjolras knew Grantaire had overworked himself in order to finish all the portraits –, Grantaire had never looked more beautiful. Enjolras didn’t realize that he was gaping at the man, completely speechless, until Grantaire approached him with a glass of champagne in one hand and a worried frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?”, was Grantaire’s immediate question, because Enjolras was standing as still as a statue in the middle of the entryway with a dumbfounded look on his face. He blinked up at Grantaire, wanting to tell him that he was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen and simultaneously wanting to run back to his apartment and hide in embarrassment. He decided to do neither.

“Nothing. Um. Nothing’s wrong”, he cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Grantaire’s face. “You look good”, he added as an afterthought, gazing at the rest of the gallery, even though _how good Grantaire looked_ was possibly the only thought in his mind at that moment. Grantaire laughed at Enjolras’ comment, much to the agent’s annoyance, and Enjolras turned to glare at him as if challenging him to deny it.

“You look _great_ ”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him, a smile so wide and bright on his face that Enjolras couldn’t help but to smile back. “I’m so glad you came. I didn’t think you would make it”, he admitted, an embarrassed look in his eyes. “From the way you got caught up at work yesterday, and stuff”, he added with a shrug.

Enjolras had been so busy after returning from the stakeout with Courfeyrac that he barely had any time to text or call Grantaire. The pictures Courfeyrac had taken and the audio Enjolras had recorded had been sent for analysis, and the hair Enjolras had picked up at the scene had been tested. On Thursday, which was the day of the stakeout, there wasn’t much that they could do other than discuss possible courses of action and speculate, but as soon as the DNA test confirmed that the hair Jondrette had sent to the Mayor was indeed his daughter’s, the whole office became a chaos of typing and calling and researching. Enjolras barely had any time to breathe on Friday, as he, Courfeyrac and Le Cabuc worked their best to find out how Mayor Madeleine’s daughter, Euphrasie, had been captured and held hostage, and where they could be keeping her. If what Victurnien had said was true and the only reason the Mayor didn’t order the Patron-Minette’s arrest was because they were threatening his daughter’s life, then there was a chance they could shut the gang down for good so long as they retrieved the girl from Jondrette and his men. However, there was no guarantee that Lamarque could talk to Madeleine about this subject without risking the integrity of the ABC and its members. If Madeleine went as far as allowing a drug cartel to take over the city just to protect his daughter, who was to assert that he wouldn’t snitch it was the ABC meddling with the Minette’s business? Lamarque couldn’t compromise his agency or his men’s lives over an information to which they had no confirmation. This, of course, resulted in hours over hours of work and research to every field agent available, and since Enjolras was an incredibly petty person that always wanted to be the best at everything he did, he stayed overnight at the office until Saturday morning. He did all the research he could on Euphrasie – or Cosette, as she preferred to be called – and on the previous Mayor that had been in charge before Madeleine. He would have completely forgotten about Grantaire’s gallery opening if the man had not called him to confirm his presence at the event.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world”, Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, trying to hide how tired he was feeling. He had spent the entire night at the office, only returning home on Saturday morning despite of Courfeyrac’s pleas for him to leave. Grantaire eyed him with a look that told Enjolras that he could tell something was off, but decided not to comment on it.

“Here you go”, Grantaire said, handing Enjolras the champagne he was holding and passing an arm around his shoulder. Enjolras eyed the champagne with doubt – he wasn’t very fond of drinking, and he only did so when he had to put up a cover during a field work. “What, you don’t like champagne?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow, sensing his reluctance.

“I’m not too fond of it, no”, Enjolras admitted, handing the glass back to Grantaire with a smile. Grantaire shrugged and downed the entire glass in one go, much to Enjolras’ surprise. “Hey. Shouldn’t you take it easy?”, Enjolras frowned. Grantaire got rid of the glass and turned to face Enjolras with a beaming smile on his lips.

“This is my opening night, Ange”, Grantaire explained, intertwining his arm with Enjolras’ and leading him further into the gallery, where several people were standing and admiring Grantaire’s works. “I never thought that this would actually happen, so you can’t judge a man for celebrating. Chetta, I can’t believe you came!”

Enjolras turned around to see the familiar face of the waitress of the Corinthe arriving, smiling widely at Grantaire and outstretching her arms towards him. Grantaire let go of Enjolras to envelop the girl in a tight hug, and Enjolras could feel the sweet scent of her perfume reach his nostrils as soon as she got close enough to him. She looked beautiful in her red dress and with her hair loose like that, full lips matching her clothes perfectly. She broke the hug to take a look at Grantaire and whistled.

“You’re looking handsome”, she commented with approval. “And of course I came, there was no way in hell I would miss my favorite costumer’s gallery opening!”, she smiled, only then seeming to notice Enjolras’ presence. Her pleased look gave place to surprise once she realized who it was standing beside Grantaire, and she raised a curious eyebrow at them both.

“You know Enjolras already”, Grantaire felt the need to introduce, but his words weren’t enough for Musichetta to unglue her eyes from Enjolras’ frame. She was studying him closely, almost in the same way Enjolras studied his assignments in the field, and there was some sort of blatant curiosity in her eyes that made him feel very embarrassed and very brave at the same time.

“Mademoiselle”, Enjolras nodded politely, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Grantaire tried to muffle a snort and Musichetta looked at him like he was a Martian, which made Enjolras blush.

“I didn’t expect to see you here”, Musichetta admitted, amusement and humor in her eyes. “Or at all, if I’m being honest”.

“Thank you for your faith in my amazing flirting skills”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, once again intertwining his arm with Enjolras’. He couldn’t tell why, but this made Enjolras feel very comfortable despite of Musichetta making him feel inadequate.

“Your flirting skills are exactly why I’m surprised to see him”, Musichetta argued, turning back to Enjolras. “What was your name again?”

“Enjolras”, Enjolras provided with a smile that couldn’t help but be a bit too forced.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Grantaire’s _Ange_ ”, she teased, tapping lightly at Grantaire’s shoulder. Enjolras lowered his head slightly to prevent himself from blushing. “I’ll leave you lovebirds be now and go check your art. That’s what I’m here for, right?”, she raised another eyebrow before turning on her heels and turning a corridor to where Grantaire’s exposition was being held at. Enjolras bit his lower lip, slightly embarrassed by the awkwardness of the encounter.

“Don’t mind her, she’s just a tease”, Grantaire felt the need to explain after a few moments of silence as they strolled into the gallery.

“It’s ok, I like her”, Enjolras replied. He actually did like Musichetta, even though he didn’t know her very well. She had some kind of honesty and sincerity that felt genuine to Enjolras, and he couldn’t help but to instantly empathize with her. Maybe this was Courfeyrac’s fault and he had given Enjolras the liking-everyone-you-meet cooties.

“Thankfully not many of my friends are coming, so you don’t have to worry about being introduced to anyone else”, Grantaire commented, grabbing another glass of champagne from a waiter as they strolled through the corridor.

“Why aren’t they coming?”, Enjolras asked, looking at the art pieces hanging from the walls but noticing, from the corner of his eyes, the way Grantaire downed yet another glass of champagne in one go. Despite of this, he still felt very fancy strolling through the corridors of an art gallery with Grantaire’s arm interlocked with his. Enjolras felt ridiculous when the word “Victorian” came to his mind, but unfortunately that was the only way he could describe the sensation.

“Oh, you know. It’s a Saturday evening. They’ve got better stuff to do”, he shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal, but Enjolras could tell this was bothering Grantaire. “And the expo will be here for another four weeks, so they can come see it other time. I don’t really mind”, he added, sounding like he minded a lot. Enjolras frowned.

“I’m sorry they couldn’t make it”, he said politely. Grantaire hummed his agreement and got rid of his empty glass again.

“It’s ok”, he shrugged again. “You came, so that’s already more than I could hope for”.

“You really thought I wouldn’t come?”, Enjolras turned his face to look at Grantaire, a hurt look evident in his eyes. Grantaire looked embarrassed by the question.

“I wouldn’t really judge you if you did”, he explained, looking straight ahead. “I know you’re busy with your work and stuff, and I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for taking some time to come to my gallery opening. God forbid your boss gives you another time off”, he grinned, teasing. Enjolras resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s nothing I can’t take care of later”, Enjolras sighed instead. “And like I said, I wouldn’t want to miss your opening”.

“I bet that phrase sounded better in your head”, Grantaire said, sounding like he was holding back a fit of laughter. Enjolras blushed, but huffed out a breath.

“You know what I meant”, he said, voice small and defensive. He wasn’t looking at Grantaire.

“I know what you meant”, Grantaire relented, giving Enjolras an affectionate smile and stopping their stroll. “Well, here it is. From this wall on, everything you see was made by my hands. Well, except for the furniture, and the wall, and the wall painting, and the little plaques with the names of the pieces, and the air conditioner over there, and the doorframe, and –“

“Ok”, Enjolras interrupted Grantaire’s rant with a chuckle. “Everything in a canvas was made by you. Everything else… wasn’t”.

“Precisely. That really puts an artist’s work in perspective, doesn’t it?”, he giggled, letting go of Enjolras’ arm in order to shove his hands into his pockets, but walking side by side with Enjolras as they entered the exposition. “I would say… 30% of this room was made by me? But I’ve never been really good at math, so I could be wrong”, he joked.

“I can assure you that the 30% are the best percentage of the room”, Enjolras said absentmindedly, looking at Grantaire’s art with a look that could only be described as mesmerized. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide with admiration as he gazed at canvas after canvas, each more beautiful than the previous. Enjolras could tell that Grantaire had a preference for abstract art, even though there were still some portraits around the room. The way he used the colors and contrast in his paintings was endearing, and Enjolras found himself actually having an emotional reaction to each of them.

“Are those for sale?”, he asked Grantaire, not taking his eyes away from the paintings. Grantaire scoffed as if he thought Enjolras was joking, but one quick and serious glance from Enjolras made him realize that he was serious.

“Why do you ask?”, Grantaire frowned instead of answering the question.

“Curiosity”, Enjolras said, instead of admitting that he was planning on buying one of Grantaire’s paintings. “They’re… They’re really good, R”, he added, remembering how much the man liked the nickname.

“Thanks”, Grantaire said, sounding a bit taken aback, but Enjolras could no longer pay attention to him. He had stopped in front of the most outstanding painting in the expo, and Grantaire took the cue and stopped right by his side. What was on the canvas was hard to describe.

The painting was an abstract piece, full of different colors, but there was still something melancholic about it. Enjolras could spot dark-green, purple, grey, black, navy blue and several variations of those tones, but most of the composition of the painting was dark and gloomy. It looked like Grantaire had covered the canvas in black and splattered the different paints all over it, some in more quantity than others. Right at the middle of the canvas, there was one single small blotch of bright red that contrasted with the darkness of the piece. Despite of the somberness of the painting, Enjolras found himself rather fond of it, and it was probably his favorite work in all of Grantaire’s exposition. He was very shocked, however, when he stepped closer to it and found that the painting was called “Self Portrait”.

“Why did you give it this name?”, Enjolras frowned, finally turning to look at Grantaire for the first time since they entered his exposition. Grantaire wasn’t looking at Enjolras, but instead seemed to be very interested at his own feet. Enjolras frowned, not understanding.

“I don’t know”, Grantaire shrugged. “This is actually the last piece I worked on for this expo. It just… It seemed right to name it a self-portrait. Because that’s what it is. I look at it and I see myself. It doesn’t have my face because I’d rather see a bunch of pretty colors instead. And they all represent a part of me, or a part that someone else has left on me. I don’t really think a person is just… an unity, but rather a bunch of little pieces of personality and experience and interaction and… well. Basically, the way I see it, people are like a jigsaw puzzle, but the pieces don’t always fit in together. The more messed up the person is, the more abstract the puzzle becomes. That’s what I was trying to portray”, he shrugged again, still not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. And maybe Enjolras couldn’t fully understand what Grantaire meant by that piece, maybe he wasn’t close enough to the man to understand it just yet. But after hearing the explanation, Enjolras looked at the painting with other eyes, and it was _beautiful_. Grantaire wasn’t a mess. He was complex and different and beautiful, just like his painting. Suddenly, Enjolras was invaded by a feeling of shame, as if he was invading Grantaire’s privacy by looking at such a personal piece. He fought the urge to apologize and took a step closer to Grantaire instead, taking both of the artist’s hands into his and squeezing them to call his attention. Grantaire raised his head to look at Enjolras, an unreadable look in his eyes. Enjolras smiled.

“It’s beautiful”, he said, giving Grantaire’s hands another squeeze. “Just like _you_ are”.

Grantaire’s eyes were filled with emotion and something that Enjolras could have called gratitude. He smiled, despite of himself, and lowered his head again, this time not in shame, but in embarrassment at Enjolras’ compliment.

“You’re so cheesy”, Grantaire said, but there was no menace or mockery in his tone, just lighthearted teasing. Enjolras chuckled.

“No, I’m definitely _not_ cheesy”, he argued, because really, if there was one word he wouldn’t use to describe himself, that word was _cheesy_. “I’m telling you the truth. This is my favorite one”.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras again, and the agent pretended not to see the tears pooling in Grantaire’s eyes. Enjolras’ heart was beating fast inside his chest.

“My art is approved by you, then?”, Grantaire asked, humor in his voice. Enjolras chuckled again.

“Yes, 100%”, he nodded, smiling.

“So now that you know I’m not a lousy artist you’ll date me?”, Grantaire raised a teasing eyebrow. Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately.

“We’re already dating”, Enjolras admitted, even though his stomach churned at the words. Once again, the impossibility of having a relationship with Grantaire downed upon him. He would never be able to tell Grantaire about his job without betraying the ABC. And betraying the ABC… that was something Enjolras simply could not do. And he didn’t want to have a dishonest relationship with Grantaire. He didn’t want to _lie_ to him. Grantaire didn’t deserve that. The only solutions Enjolras could find to this problem involved either retiring from the ABC or leaving Grantaire. He loved both of them too much to choose one over the other.

Wait. What?

“Enjolras?”, Grantaire called his name, noticing the half-grim, half-shocked look that took over Enjolras’ expression. “Is something wrong?”

He couldn’t love Grantaire, right? That… that couldn’t be. That wasn’t how _love_ worked. Enjolras might have no experience whatsoever in the matters of relationships and love, but he knew that it didn’t happen so fast. It couldn’t possibly happen so fast. He had only known Grantaire for what, now? Almost two weeks? There was no way Enjolras was in love with him. There was no way Enjolras loved someone he barely knew. That wasn’t how this worked. This couldn’t be how this worked!

He looked up at Grantaire, finding worry in his eyes, and before he knew what he was doing, he retrieved his hands from Grantaire’s grasp. Grantaire looked confused and even more worried at this, but hurt took over his eyes when Enjolras took a step back from him. Enjolras couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t keep looking at Grantaire’s beautiful face or Grantaire’s beautiful paintings without falling even more in love with him. _Oh god_. He was in love with Grantaire.

What was his heart doing? He needed to get out of there. He needed to get out of there fast.

Courfeyrac. That’s right. Courfeyrac was his best friend; he would know what to do. He would know how to help Enjolras figure things out.

“I’m really sorry, R”, Enjolras said, shaking his head, and Grantaire’s face fell. “I just… I just remembered something about work, I really need to go”, he lied, already turning on his heels to leave.

“Wait, Enjolras!”, Grantaire called, chasing after him and holding a gentle hand at Enjolras elbow. “You’re leaving? Did I say something wrong?”, he asked, face pale. Enjolras immediately shook his head. He should have known Grantaire would think this was his fault.

“No, no, of course not”, Enjolras explained, looking deep into Grantaire’s eyes. “You didn’t do or say anything wrong. I really just realized something and I need to talk to Courfeyrac about it”, he blurted out, immediately cursing himself for revealing his best friend’s name. Shit. Grantaire wasn’t supposed to know about that. What was _happening_ to Enjolras?! He was losing control and blurting important information like a lunatic! He needed to leave. Immediately.

“Who’s Courfeyrac?”, Grantaire frowned, a tinge of jealousy in his tone.

“My partner”, he explained, and when Grantaire’s face paled and fell yet again, Enjolras realized the meaning of his words. “No, Christ no, not like that”, he explained, sounding more frantic than he would have liked. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would burst out of his chest. “He’s my work partner”, Enjolras said, and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief. “He works with me. He’s my right hand, or I’m his right hand, doesn’t really matter. I just have to go, ok? I’m sorry, I’ll talk to you later”, he began to back off again.

“O…k?”, Grantaire frowned, but didn’t try to follow Enjolras or hold him back. Instead, he simply stood there, watching as Enjolras waved him one last awkward goodbye before turning into a corner and disappearing. Some people at the exposition were staring at him after the scene Enjolras had just made, but Grantaire didn’t really care about them. Instead, he continued to stand there, by himself, feeling confused and a little bit hurt by Enjolras’ sudden departure. When a waiter walked by him after a few minutes, Grantaire didn’t even look at him as he reached a hand towards the tray to grab two glasses of champagne instead of one.

 

 

 

 

**E: I need help.**

**C: What happened?**

**C: Please don’t tell me that you fucked Grantaire.**

**C: Because if you did**

**C: I’m gonna be really upset you didn’t call me before it happened to tell me about it**

**E: I didn’t fuck Grantaire.**

**C: Then?**

**C: What’s wrong?**

**C: If you tell me this is an ABC thing I’m gonna lose my shit**

**C: Don’t text me “I need help” unless it strictly has to do with your love life**

**E: Fine, it has to do with my love life.**

**C: Just tell me what’s wrong, Enj. You’re getting me worried over here.**

**E: I think I love him.**

**C: HELL YES**

**C: FUCKIN KNEW IT**

**C: LE CABUC OWES ME 50 BUCKS NOW**

**E: Can you please focus? I think I’m freaking out.**

**C: Sorry, Enj. So, what’s the matter?**

**E: Is it normal????**

**C: To love people? Uhhhhh yeah last time I checked it was ok**

**E: No, Courfeyrac. To fall in love so fast.**

**E: I mean, I met him barely two weeks ago. I shouldn’t be in love with him, right?**

**C: Why not?**

**E: Because it’s too fast!**

**C: Why is it too fast?**

**E: TWO WEEKS COURF.**

**C: So what?**

**C: Do tell me, what would you say is the appropriate timespan to fall in love with someone?**

**E: I don’t know.**

**C: You don’t know because there isn’t one, genius. People fall in love at different speeds. Some people take months, some take years, some take weeks, some take days. It’s ok. It doesn’t change how you feel about him.**

**E: I feel like a Victorian maiden that has fallen in love with the first boy who bothered to give her attention.**

**C: OOOOHHOO TRUST ME**

**C: GRANTAIRE ISN’T THE FIRST PERSON TO GIVE YOU ATTENTION**

**C: I would have probably fallen for you years ago if you weren’t such a nerd**

**C: Plus, you’re not my type. Too blond for my taste**

**C: Also I’m sure half the office is 50% in love with you and 50% terrified of you**

**C: BUT**

**C: My point is: you don’t have to feel stupid about it. If you love him, you love him. It’s not a big deal.**

**E: It’s not a big deal for you because you’ve dated half of Paris; for me it’s a big deal because I’ve never felt like this before.**

**C: Aww that’s so cute**

**C: So what did he say when you told him?**

**E: I didn’t.**

**C: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm what**

**C: Ok. I don’t even know why I’m surprised.**

**E: Thanks**

**C: Really, Enj, you have to get your shit together.**

**E: How can I tell him I love him, Courf? He’ll think I’m stupid and childish and naïve for falling in love so fast and on the top of that, I don’t think I can have a relationship with a person without being honest with them. I can’t just lie about my job and I can’t tell him the truth without being a traitor, either. I don’t know what to do.**

**C: Enjolras**

**C: Enjolras**

**C: Enjolras.**

**C: Just go for it, my man**

**C: What we do, what we chose to do with our lives, it demands lying**

**C: We were trained to do it**

**C: And if you tell him you’re a super secret agent, you’ll be actually committing treason**

**C: And he probably wouldn’t believe you anyway**

**C: So don’t tell him. It’s not like it’s even an option**

**E: I don’t understand what you mean.**

**C: Look. If you could, if you had a way to do it, you would tell Grantaire about being a secret agent. The only reason you can’t tell him is because you made an oath, and because you’d probably be under a lawsuit if you did. And you’d ruin your entire career.**

**E: That’s not really helping.**

**C: Shh, let me finish. You CAN’T tell him, but you WOULD if you COULD. That’s what counts, at the end of the day. Your intentions are pure. You’re not deceiving him, or willingly lying to him. You would tell him, if it didn’t absolutely ruined your life. This is not lying about having a mistress, or about something trivial. This is lying to protect yourself and your country.**

**C: It’s not fair that you have to die alone and without knowing what love is just because of your job. Just let yourself love and be loved, Enjy**

**E: But what if he finds out?**

**C: ENJOLRAS**

**C: YOU’RE LITERALLY THE BEST AGENT IN THE WHOLE ABC AFTER ONLY LAMARQUE WHO IS LIKE AN AGENT GOD**

**C: HE WON’T FIND OUT UNLESS YOU RUB IT IN HIS FACE**

**E: But what if I’m endangering him by being in a relationship with him? What if someone finds out I’m dating him and tries to hurt him??**

**C: Enjolras, you’re not Spider-Man. No one’s going to kidnap your boyfriend to get to you**

**C: Literally the only people who know what your real job is work in the ABC and Lamarque would never hire someone he didn’t trust**

**C: Stop trying to make excuses ok honey???**

**C: If you love him, then LOVE HIM. Don’t hold yourself back because you’re afraid.**

**E: I’m**

**E: I’m not afraid***

**C: Yes, you are. Because you never fell in love before and this is terrifying you, and you’d rather try to come up with a thousand excuses to stay in your comfort zone than to dive in head-first into this opportunity that life’s giving you.**

**C: Just tell him how you feel, E**

**C: It will be ok, I promise.**

**C: And I’m sure he loves you back**

**E: How can you know that? You don’t even know him.**

**C: But I know you. And you’re probably the most loveable person I know**

**E: Now you’re just being ridiculous.**

**C: Ouch :-(**

**C: But I really mean it**

**C: Just GO FOR IT**

**E: I don’t know. I have to think.**

**C: Do you want me to come over and make you company in this trying time?**

**E: Are you busy?**

**C: No**

**E: It’s Saturday night.**

**C: I’m never busy for you**

**C: I’m coming over, ok? I’ll help you figure this out**

**E: You really don’t have to. I’m fine.**

**C: The hell you are. I’ll be there in 10**

**E: You’re the best, Courf.**

**C: Love ya**

**E: Love you too.**

**C: Can I bring my powerpoint presentation on how to give the best blowjobs or is it too soon**

**E: Just shut up, Courf.**

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill. Comments are my secret kink.


End file.
